


What Would Happen If We Kissed?

by only_more_love



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts of Booth are keeping Brennan awake at night. Question is, what is she going to do about it? This story is set in Season 2, after Episode 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Temperance Brennan couldn't sleep. She had tried a number of techniques - a glass of warm milk, a hot shower, even a CD of Gregorian chants. Sleep remained elusive. With a sigh of frustration, she punched her pillow before tossing it off the bed and sitting up. In the dark emptiness of her bedroom, she could admit it - she was sexually frustrated. It wasn't diffuse frustration, either. No, her unfulfilled desire centered on one maddening FBI agent whose crooked grins and outrageous quips simultaneously made her want to kiss him and slap him.

The small, discreet touches were driving her insane. Booth's hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of a room, the brush of his fingers against her shoulders as he helped her put on her coat... Those gestures made her skin prickle and warm until she marveled that she didn't burst into flames. The scientist in her recognized that spontaneous human combustion was scientifically unsubstantiated and highly improbable. But the woman in her wondered.

The woman in her had long since realized just how well Booth was structured - and wondered how they might fit together. Too much time spent wondering about that could be distracting, which could be fatal in their line of work. Could it be that the only rational thing to do was to sleep with Booth? Yes, perhaps just once. They were both adults; surely this was the answer. The physical release should be enough to dim her curiosity. Then they could go back to being partners, without any distractions.

She knew that he found her at least somewhat physically attractive. His glance had been decidedly appreciative when she'd pulled that wad of bills from her cleavage in Las Vegas.

But she wouldn't know for sure unless she asked.


	2. Every Problem Has a Solution

Brennan brushed her teeth, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. Pink tinged her cheeks. Not surprising, given that she'd just been fantasizing about Booth and his...structure. The fantasies had stolen her sleep one too many nights. She had to do something.

After rinsing her mouth, she removed the elastic band that held her hair up in a loose ponytail. She bent at the waist and hung her head for a moment, fluffing her hair. One pair of jeans, one foil-wrapped condom, and two swipes of deodorant later and she was ready to face her partner.

The ride to Booth's was quiet. She met few other cars on the road; all the bars had closed at 2:00. As she pulled up in front of Booth's apartment complex, 3:15 flashed fluorescent green on the instrument panel of her car. She exited her car, taking care to not slam the door and shatter the early morning stillness. The cool September air washed over her and she shivered, wishing she'd remembered to grab her windbreaker.

Taking a deep breath, Brennan rapped on Booth's door and then rang the bell. Despite the distinct chill, her hands were moist. She wiped them on her jeans and waited. When nothing but the sound of small insects reached her ears, she turned to leave. Perhaps she should just go home. If she still wasn't able to sleep, she'd shower and head into the Jeffersonian early. There was always more work to be done.

But she had gone only a few steps when she heard a door open behind her.

"Bones?"

The silk and sandpaper of Booth's voice rasped against her in a nearly tangible caress. It was too late to escape. She slowly turned to face him. "Good morning, Booth," she replied, forcing her voice to remain even. The sight that met her eyes made that a difficult task.

Booth's dark brown hair stood up in spikes that radiated from his head like a deranged halo. Not that she was religious. And her thoughts were anything but pure as she drank him in with her eyes. He was shirtless. She watched in fascination as his nipples pebbled in reaction to the cold.

"What's wrong? Is everything ok?" He yawned and reached up to rub the back of his neck. The motion made the muscles in his arms and chest flex in a very interesting fashion.

"I'm fine. Why did you take so long to answer the door?" she asked, the question clearly a complaint. "I would have thought your Ranger training would make you a light sleeper."

His only response was a pointed glare. Then he stepped outside, his feet bare, and wrapped his hand around her wrist. "Man, it's cold out here."

She glanced down at his chest. "Yes, it appears to be, since your nipples are erect," she stated.

"Hey! Enough with the staring at my nipples," he said as he tugged her into his apartment.

Brennan allowed Booth to lead her inside, observing how his long, warm, male fingers encompassed her entire wrist. Her pulse pounded in response.

Booth loosened his grasp on her, and it was then that Brennan noticed what was in his right hand.

"I didn't come here to murder you in your sleep," she said with a smile, pointing at the FBI issue SW99 pistol Booth had just set down on the hallway table.

"You can never be too careful, Bones."

"Or too paranoid," she muttered.

He glanced up. "What was that?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Did I wake you?" she asked, changing the subject and hoping to buy herself some time to order her thoughts.

Booth huffed and rolled his eyes. "It's after 3:00 in the morning," he said. "Of course you woke me." His gaze swept her face, sharpening as it lingered on her eyes. "Have you been drinking?"

"What? No, I have _not_ been drinking."

"Well I know you didn't just happen to be in the neighborhood. So 'fess up. Why are you here?"

The moment of truth had arrived. What had seemed like a perfectly logical and persuasive argument back at her apartment seemed much less so now that she was seated next to her half-naked partner. Could she really tell him that she wanted him? She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "I...That is...Remember when I mentioned how helpless we higher primates are to our biological-" The words lodged in her throat and she dissolved into a coughing fit.

Booth rose from the couch. "Hang on, I'll get you a glass of water."

Brennan concentrated on getting her breathing under control, be she couldn't help taking a peek at Booth's retreating figure. The thin grey cotton of his pajama pants clung lovingly to his backside and suggested that he wasn't wearing any underwear. That observation nearly sent her into another round of coughing.

She was nearly composed by the time Booth returned from the kitchen, bearing two glasses of water. He handed her one. The strong curve of his shoulder was pure temptation; she barely resisted the urge to nip him.

"Here. Drink." He watched her silently, eyes dark and impenetrable, until she'd finished half the glass and set it down on the coffee table. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." She looked down at the couch and traced a small circle in the cushion. "I couldn't sleep."

"I know. And I think I know why you're here."

"You do?" she asked.

"Yeah. And it's ok. I understand."

"Really? I wasn't sure you would, but then I decided I should just discuss it with you. You did say that partners share things..."

"It builds trust," he said with a sage nod. "So talk to me." He reached out and covered one of her hands with one of his. "I know you miss Russ and your dad." His voice pitched low, making her stomach clench. "You haven't said much about it, and it's been weeks since they left, but I know it was tough for you to watch them leave you behind again. I see the dark circles," he said, releasing her hand only to run a finger lightly underneath her left eye and then her right.

The gentle touch sent a shudder through her. She pulled back and looked up at him with a frown. "No. That's not why I'm here. That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"It's not? Then why are you here?"

"Yes, I do miss Russ and Dad. But I'm not meant to have a normal family," she said, hating herself for the sadness she heard in her own voice. "I came here to talk about you...and me."

Booth leaned back and tilted his head slightly. He narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest in what appeared to be a defensive posture, if the book she'd been reading about body language was to be believed. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes. There is a problem. I haven't been sleeping lately. And I'm concerned that it's starting to affect my work. There's only one thing I can think to do about it."

"Hold on. Back up. Are you saying I'm keeping you awake at night?"

"Yes. You." She stood up and started to pace, clenching her fists in agitation. "You," she said, pointing her index finger at him, "are keeping me up, and it has to stop. I told you, we higher primates are helpless to our biological urges. The physical release, the connection - we all need it. If we do it, if we have sex..." She heard Booth make a choking sound. "...just once, maybe that will be enough. We're both adults, and we're friends. We can be mature about this." Her pacing led her to one end of the living room. She turned and reversed her direction, stopping in front of Booth. "Well?" Brennan quirked an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

She watched as Booth's mouth opened and closed a few times and a red flush appeared high on his cheeks. "Bones, are you telling me you're here for a booty call?" he said.


	3. Assertive Women

Booth leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and waited for Brennan to answer his question. What the hell was he going to say if she said yes? He felt himself start to harden at the thought. _Hey, quit it. Think about something else, fast. Dirt, skeletons, shiny, black beetles cleaning off human remains. Beetles, think beetles. Jackpot_! He started to go soft.

"Well, it isn't accurate to say I called you." He winced and covered his eyes.

"Do you always have to be so damned literal?"

She sat across from him on the edge of his coffee table and mirrored his posture. As she leaned forward, her tank top gaped away from her chest. He fought not to look. He lost. "You didn't let me finish. While I didn't actually call you, it's true that I am interested in your...booty."

"Never, and I do mean never, let me hear you say that word again. It's just...not right."

"Which word? Booty?"

"Ah!" He covered her mouth with his hand. "What did I just say?" Her reply came out muffled against his palm. He snatched his hand back as soon as his brain processed the fact that her lips were soft and warm against his skin. This was Brennan, his squinty partner. They worked together.

He couldn't go there with her... Could he?

Ok, so he had thought about it. Once or twice. A man would have to be blind and a monk not to notice she was stacked; Booth was neither. But that didn't mean anything. Men liked to look. He was a man. Therefore he liked to look. It didn't have to mean anything.

"It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Huh?"

"Booth, You're not listening. Please pay attention," she said impatiently. "I was saying..." She paused, narrowed her eyes, and gave him a pointed look. "It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just sex. It would just be sex - satisfying biological urges. Nothing more."

"Bones, we work together." He mentally patted himself on the back for keeping his tone patient.

"That didn't stop you from sleeping with Dr. Saroyan."

_So much for patience._ "That was different," he said with a dismissive wave. This time he didn't bother hiding his irritation.

"How so?" Her blue eyes pinned him and he squirmed. He'd never admit it, but he admired this about her - her unflinching directness. It was just his luck that he usually happened to be on the receiving end of it.

"It just is."

"That's very poor logic."

"Whatever, Bones. Anyway, me and Cam - that's over."

"Since when? What happened?"

"That's none of your business."

"Interesting how you always accuse me of not sharing enough, yet here you are, doing your best to be as evasive as possible."

Unable to come up with a scathing reply, Booth settled for glaring at her.

"Fine, we'll ignore the matter of Dr. Saroyan for now."

"Thanks," he muttered, bracing himself for whatever she might say next.

"So admit it, you were going to kiss me."

"Kiss you? Have you lost your mind? When was I going to do that?"

"Outside the diner, the day Dr. Saroyan officially hired Zach."

"Trust me, I was not going to kiss you. Not that day, not ever." He slashed his hand through the air for emphasis.

"Yes, you were."

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Quit it, Bones."

"You're lying, Booth."

"Oh, so now you're questioning my honor."

"Not your honor, just your honesty. But I'll believe you...if you swear on your son. Swear on Parker, and I'll believe that you weren't going to kiss me that day."

"Now you're just being childish."

"You can't do it, can you? I know you think I'm not good with people, but I'm not stupid either. I know you wanted to kiss me. What I don't understand is why you're trying to deny it now."

"Believe what you want. I'm not going to swear anything on Parker."

"Are you afraid of me? Perhaps you're not used to assertive women who are willing to act on their sexual impulses. Perhaps I intimidate you."

"You don't intimidate me." He leaned forward, squashing the thrill of excitement that flared through him as he invaded her personal space. "Why would you even think that?"

"Angela says men are much more fragile and needy."

"Yeah, well Angela says a lot of things. What's with the psychology, anyway? I thought you hated that stuff."

"I do. But I trust Angela. And you are behaving rather oddly."

_"I'm_ behaving oddly? You're the one who showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night looking for I don't even know what."

She shook her head and shot him a penetrating look. "I've told you exactly why I'm here."

He swallowed thickly as Brennan slipped off the coffee table and moved to kneel between the V of his legs. The moment shifted, altered, grew heavy.

"What are you doing?"

"Going with my gut. You're always telling me I should trust it."

"And exactly what is your gut telling you?"

"That you're afraid of me."

"Are we back to that again? I. Am. Not. Afraid. Of. You."

"Prove it."

"How?"

Her lips curved in a knowing smile that told him he'd walked right into that one. "Kiss me. Just once. I dare you."

"Careful, Bones. This could be considered sexual harassment."

"Only if you say no." Her lips parted and she looked at him, with eyes that were wide open but dark and hazy with something that looked an awful lot like lust, instead of being sharp with cool intelligence the way they usually were.

"Are you saying no?"

Mere inches separated them, the space between them electric with awareness. His gaze skipped from the blue of her eyes to the moist pink of her mouth. Then it moved lower. Strands of her hair curled across the upper curve of her breasts, shone reddish brown in the lamplight.

Booth didn't stand a chance, and he knew it. He reached out and caught several of the strands, rubbed the silky ends between his fingers, allowing his knuckles to graze her silky skin. Her chest rose and fell with her breath, but she was otherwise still - waiting for an answer to her question - waiting for him to kiss her.

So he did.

He brushed his lips across hers, keeping the pressure light, giving her a chance to change her mind, though she was the one who had initiated things. Brennan was right; he was afraid. Not of her, but of not being able to go back. They were poised on the edge of something that couldn't be undone. He wondered if she understood that, worried that she didn't.

But none of that mattered at the moment, he told himself. What mattered was that she was there, in his apartment, wanting him to touch her. Wanting him. He'd always imagined that if he ever got this close to her, he'd pay for it dearly. A slap in the face at least. Broken bones at the most; she did know three forms of martial arts.

He'd been wrong.

She'd surprised him, again.

As gentle and deliberate as that first kiss was, apparently Brennan wanted more. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, cupped the base of his skull, holding him still as her mouth slanted hungrily over his, demanding and impossibly hot. Pleasure shot through him at the unfamiliar but more than welcome contact. There was nothing tentative about the velvet slide of her tongue against his. She tasted like toothpaste and desire. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

Fire raced through his veins, awakening every nerve ending in his body. Then Brennan rose from the floor and sank onto his lap, straddling him. He growled low in his throat as she pressed herself against him. The heat and scent of her were doing crazy things to him, making his cock ache and throb. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking down the smooth line of her neck and shoulders to the sweet spot where her back dipped and curved into her ass. He felt her shudder and heard her breath hitch as he cupped her there.

New...This, her body, her responses - they were all new to him. He resolved then to learn just where and how she liked to be touched. If she let him.

When she suddenly sat back against his thighs and reached for the waistband of his pants, he caught her questing hand in his and mentally cursed himself for his sometimes inconvenient sense of honor. Searching her eyes with his own, he said, "Whoa, slow down, Bones. Are you sure about this?"


	4. I'd Like to Have a Place to Go

Brennan slid off Booth's lap and leaned back against the armrest of the couch. Her heart still pounded from their kiss, and she struggled with the desire to grab him and pull him flush against her. She ached to feel his weight on top of her, pressing her into the soft, thick cushions of his couch, which seemed made for sex.

"I'm sure that if we stop now, I'll scream. Booth, we can't go on like this." She gestured between the both of them. "There's something - an unexplored sexual rapport if you will - between us. We're both healthy, consenting, unattached adults. Who would we hurt by doing this?" She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Think of it as your professional duty."

"My professional duty? Please show me where in my job description it says I have to sleep with my partner."

"I'll concede that's not officially part of your job. But you want to do your job to the best of your ability, don't you? And I can tell you that contemplating what you're like in bed is distracting me. I can't sleep, and if I can't sleep, it will eventually affect my work. I know neither of us wants that. But perhaps you're simply unsure of your sexual prowess-"

"Hey, I'll have you know that no one has ever complained about my technique. Seeley Booth always leaves his women satisfied, thank you very much." He groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

"I have noticed that talking about sex makes you very uncomfortable." She watched, fascinated, as Booth's jaw tightened.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He glared at her.

"Yes, you do." She remained silent for nearly a minute. Why shouldn't he suffer a little, too, if he was going to make this so difficult for her?

"Sex."

Booth's mouth twitched in reaction.

"Intercourse."

He cracked his knuckles.

"See, you just cracked your knuckles."

"So what? That doesn't mean anything." He scratched his nose and avoided meeting her gaze.

"Fuck," she whispered, leaning over him, her breath fanning his face.

He jumped and firmly set her away from him. "Ok. Enough, Bones," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

Brennan schooled her features into an innocent expression. A quick glance downward confirmed what she suspected - Booth had a very obvious erection. _Interesting_ , she thought, filing away the information for later. When she looked back up, Booth was scowling. He crossed his arms over his lap.

Taking pity on him, Brennan decided a slight change of subject was in order. "Haven't you ever just slept with someone and not had it become a full-blown relationship?"

"Sure. But you and me, we make good partners. Good friends. I don't want to ruin that."

"Neither do I. But that's not inevitable. It's just one night. And it's just sex."

"Just sex. Got it." His brow furrowed in such a way that she was sure he was about to argue with her. "And what if you fall in love with me? What happens to our partnership then?"

Brennan snorted and shook her head. "While I'm sure your technique is more than adequate, Booth, I can assure you that I will not fall in love with you after one night of intercourse. Of course, if this is your way of trying to tell me that _you're_ in love with _me_..."

Booth's eyes widened and he inched even further away from her. "What? No, I am definitely not in love with you. I mean, I like you. But that's it. "

"I like you, too," she said with a smile. "And for some reason I can't explain yet, I'm craving sexual release with you." The last words were spoken in a tone ripe with resentment. She knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn't help it; she didn't _want_ to want Booth.

"You say that like it's a terrible thing. Like I'm the last guy you'd choose. Look, Bones, if you're going to insult me, you may as well just go home and do whatever you need to do alone."

"Don't you think I've tried that already?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and moistening her lips. Her eyes never left his. "Masturbation serves a purpose, but it isn't nearly as satisfying as having a partner."

Booth's mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. A dark flush worked its way up his cheeks, and Brennan had the gratification of knowing she'd rendered her partner temporarily speechless. It didn't happen nearly as often as she'd like, so she had to savor the small victories. Taking advantage of his discomfiture, she crawled over to him on her hands and knees. When she reached his side, she sat back on her heels and leaned in until her mouth was millimeters from his ear. "Come on, Booth. You know you want me. I know you want me." What she knew was how much she wanted him. If she didn't have him, just this once, she might go crazy. Of course, that wasn't truly possible.

"How do you know what I want?" he said, his voice hoarse.

She reached out, intending to cup him through the worn cotton of his pants, but in a flash of movement, Booth pulled her back onto his lap. "I'll show you exactly what I want."

"Finally."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Clasping her hips with both hands, he ground himself against her until her eyes fluttered shut and a moan escaped her lips. When she would have taken off her jeans, he stopped her. "Patience, Bones," he said. Booth caught her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm. A shiver coursed through her and her eyes fluttered shut. Releasing her hand, he nipped at her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. Threading his hands through her hair, he tilted her head so that he could look at her. His eyes softened as they met hers. "Good things to come those who wait," he chided.

"Then this had better be exceptional," she said, trying to breathe normally.

She yelped when he swatted her lightly on the bottom. "Oh, trust me, it will be." His all-too-self-assured grin had her rolling her eyes.

Booth rose from the couch, forcing Brennan to wrap her legs around his waist in order to keep from falling. "What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.

"We're not doing this on my couch," he replied with a crooked smile before marching them across the room and down a dark hallway.

She shrugged. "It seems like a perfectly good couch."

"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?"

"Only you." She stifled a smile. "However, there are other things I can do with my mouth besides talk..."

"Is that so?"

His response was casual, but she heard his breath quicken.

The idea that he could carry her without betraying even a hint of strain was strangely exciting. She tightened her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against the warmth of his bare chest. An answering warmth washed over her body, settled low in her belly. Acting on impulse, Brennan buried her face in Booth's neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled like...like nothing she could name. Yet she yearned to wrap herself in his scent. She shuddered involuntarily and clenched her teeth against the raw need unfurling in her.

Booth must have felt her movement. "You ok?" he asked.

She felt the words vibrate up through the wall of his chest. "Hurry," she replied.

His arms tightened around her and he laughed, low and deep, tugging at something inside her. "All right. Let's see if I can't help you with your problem, Bones."


	5. Blackmail Material

Booth stopped and brushed her hair back from her face before gently setting her down on his bed. Disappointment washed over her when he didn't immediately join her. The world had narrowed to the scent of Booth's skin and the drumbeat of his pulse under her ear during their journey to his bedroom. It expanded again as she took advantage of the lull to examine her surroundings and attempt to decelerate the rapid beat of her heart.

Surprisingly, the curtains were open, allowing a bit of hazy ambient light to filter in from outside. A lamp on the night-stand cast enough light that she could make out the dark mahogany luster of the sleigh bed. Its strong lines and sleek curves reminded her of the man who would soon occupy it — with her. She shivered and turned her attention to the other objects on his night-stand. A photograph of Parker in a silver-toned frame. Next to that lay a book and a magazine. She moved until she could see the titles — _The Encyclopedia of Conspiracy Theories_ , and beneath that, _Hot Rod_. A quick rifle through the slick magazine pages revealed colorful pictures of cars and their innards. She set the magazine down and brushed her hand over the cover of the book, shooting a look over her shoulder at Booth, who remained standing at the foot of the bed.

"What? I read."

Her lips twitched at his defensive tone. "I don't doubt it. But knowing about this..." She tapped the book with her index finger. "...would make Hodgins a very happy man."

"Which is why you're not going to mention it to him."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm asking you not to. As a favor."

"Hm. And what do I get in return for this favor?"

"Let me see if I've got this right. You're trying to blackmail a federal agent — again."

"Of course," she said, infusing the words with a teasing lilt. "So what will you give me as an inducement to keep my mouth shut?"

"You're really ungrateful, you know that? I already promised to help you with your problem."

"I _would_ be grateful if you'd actually help me. So far all I've gotten is a lot of macho posturing." A shrug of her shoulders and an exaggerated sigh. "I'm beginning to think you're all talk."

He advanced on her then, stalking her with a predatory grace that reminded her he had once been a sniper.

She inched backward on the bed until she sat against the headboard. Then there was nowhere left to move.

Booth's eyes glimmered dangerously, and she suppressed a shiver. He caged her with his arms before curving his hands around her hips and pulling her down until she lay on her back in his bed. "You make me crazy," he murmured against her ear. She gasped as his breath tickled her and the meaning of his words sank in.

Then Booth kissed her, and this time there was no hesitation. Just the firm press of his mouth against hers and the warm caress of his hands on her face. Her heart hammered in her chest. Yes. This was what she had wanted, what she had needed, when she lay in her own bed and fought her irrational desire for him. Kissing him back, she teased his bottom lip until he relented and opened his mouth. Her tongue swept in to taste him and she heard him groan.

This audible evidence of his hunger sent a bolt of delicious heat straight to her core. "What do you mean, I make you crazy?"

"Lately, when you toss around words like 'tissue depth' and 'hip diffusion,'" here he paused to nibble on her earlobe, "all I can focus on is the shape of your perfect, perfect mouth."

Feeling triumphant, she pulled back and cupped Booth's face with both hands, so she could look directly in his eyes. "Then you admit it's mutual."

He laughed shakily and grasped her right hand. He moved it to his erection, held it there for a long moment. "Yeah, it's mutual."

She'd known. Of course she'd known. The guy hugs, the almost-kisses, the way he looked at her sometimes when he thought she wouldn't notice. She wasn't an idiot. But to hear him admit it...

A secret part of her thrilled at the knowledge that Booth was hard _for her_.

Emboldened by his admission, she pushed him onto his back and touched him again, stroking him through his pants.

Booth's head fell back as he groaned, exposing the column of his throat. His hips jerked, and he arched into her hand; heat pooled between her legs. But before Brennan could take his pants off as she wanted to, his hand shot out and caught her wrist, stilling her movement.

"No."

"Booth, I'm tired of waiting." She knew she sounded whiny, but she didn't care.

"You needed help, and you came to me. Seeley Booth, problem solver, at your service." He freed her hand and sat up. "I'm glad you're here," he said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, "and believe me, I want you, too. But tonight is all about you."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

The way he said it sent a frisson of anticipation skittering up her spine. "Booth, this is only happening once." It wouldn't do to have him thinking it, this, would be happening again. Reasonable expectations needed to be set.

He leaned over her, his body blocking the light, and trailed a series of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

She moaned in response and shifted restlessly, spearing her fingers into his hair. "Just tonight," she said, shuddering as Booth's mouth sought the hollow of her clavicle. "To defuse the tension," she said breathlessly.

"I know," he said, the words deliciously muffled against her skin. He lifted his head, dark hair adorably mussed from her wandering fingers, and met her gaze. "Relax, Bones. It's just sex. I get it," he said.

She could have sworn his eyes glinted with mockery. But then Booth shifted closer, and their lips met in a kiss that temporarily stole her breath and her thoughts. His mouth slanted over hers again and again. His scent surrounded her, cradled her. It clung to his sheets and rose from his skin, enveloping her.

He teased her, just barely allowing the tip of his tongue to graze hers, until she moaned, desperate to taste him fully.

She heard him chuckle, and she swallowed his laughter with her mouth, kissing him deeply. She used her tongue to stroke the inside of his mouth, allowing it to tangle with his. Had he tasted so good in her fantasies? _No._ And tasting him now only increased the ache that had been building steadily within her.

Hungry. She was so hungry. No, she was starving for him — for his mouth, and his hands, and his cock.

Her breasts felt heavy and swollen with want. Before she could even think to ask him to touch her there, his hand lifted, only to settle on her right breast, cupping her through the fabric of her shirt and bra. Brennan wanted, needed the heat of his skin against hers. She pushed Booth away so that she could lift up enough to wriggle out of the tank top that suddenly felt much, much tighter than it had before. She fumbled with the hooks on her bra, desperate to be naked.

"Here, let me do it." With fingers that seemed steadier than hers, Booth helped her remove her clothing.

When she finally lay before him naked, he settled beside her. She wasn't ashamed of her body, but it seemed important, suddenly, that Booth be pleased with it.

Eyes solemn and locked on hers, he traced a trembling finger from the center of her forehead, over her nose, lips, and chin, down her throat, between her breasts, and over her stomach, stopping just above where she wanted him most. He smoothed his palm over her mons, the heat of his hand spreading outward from where he touched her until she felt warm all over.

He finally looked away, his eyes straying to her breasts. Her nipples hardened under the weight of his stare, pleading for his attention. How much more of this sweet torment could she take?

"Show me where you want me," he rasped.

The low tenor of his voice told her he was as affected as she was.

Feeling as if she were moving in slow motion, Brennan reached out for his hand and placed it flush against her breast.

"Only my hands?" he whispered, stroking around and around her nipple, coming oh so tantalizingly close.

She shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Good," he replied, "because I really want to put my mouth on you."

In a flash of movement he was on top of her, the delicious weight of his body pressing her back into the bed. Lifting up slightly, he moved down until his mouth hovered just above her pebbled nipple. Finally, when she thought she might just die if he didn't kiss her there, he lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Chills wracked Brennan's body, and she gripped Booth's head, holding him in place. Each tug of his lips elicited an answering throb in her sex. He released her nipple and bent to brush his stubbled cheek against her sensitive skin. Sensation rippled through her. She looked down, and the sight of Booth's dark hair against the paleness of her breasts nearly undid her. He laved her nipple with his tongue and blew a soft breath over it. It tightened even further, almost painfully, and she bucked upward, eyes squeezed shut, seeking the moist heat of his mouth.

"Easy, Bones," he said, kissing the underside of one breast and then the other, attempting to dampen the blaze that he'd kindled.

When she'd calmed sufficiently, she opened her eyes to find him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. He cupped both her breasts in his hands and squeezed them together.

"Fuck," he said with a sigh. "You're gorgeous." The reverence with which he spoke the words contrasted with their coarseness.

He moved up until they were face to face again and covered her with his body. He grasped her leg right beside her knee, and she understood that he wanted her to wrap her legs around him. She did so, grinding herself against him until they were both panting. She could feel him, even through his pants. Each time his cock rubbed against her, it sparked the most exquisite friction. He'd buried his face against her throat, and each hot breath sent a fresh wave of sensation coursing through her.

She clutched at his bare back and felt the taut muscles bunch under her hands. How many countless, frustrating nights had she fantasized about Booth, especially after watching him box in Vegas? Oh, she'd always known he was well-structured. However, the suits he generally wore didn't show off his impressive musculature to its best effect. The shirt he'd worn during the underground fight, on the other hand, had nicely revealed the raw power hidden beneath the suits. Her hands mapped the width of his back, the curve of his tricep, and the bulge of his bicep, committing them to memory.

This was better than any fantasy she'd ever had. Giving in to her earlier impulse, she nipped his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she said, sounding anything but. "I've been wanting to do that since you opened the door and let me in."

He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "Really?" he asked, sounding pleased.

"Mmhmm."

"So, uh, what else have you been wanting to do to me? You know, you mentioned I've been keeping you up at night."

"Are you asking me to tell you about my fantasies?"

"Yeah. Don't you think you should, seeing as this is our first and only night together?"

"No. It would just kill the mystery," she deadpanned. "But since I just shared something private, I think you should, too. Tell me something you want to do to me."

"I already told you. I want..." His voice trailed off.

"What?" she prodded.

"I want to put my mouth on you," he said, voice strained.

Brennan shuddered at his words and felt a rush of wetness. Then her eyes widened as she processed what he'd said. But before she could formulate an appropriate response, Booth moved down on the bed.

With infinitely gentle hands, he spread her legs. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited for the first touch. When seconds ticked by and it didn't come, she opened her eyes and lifted her head to look down at him. She found him looking at her with rapt attention. "Booth?" she said, suddenly unsure.

"You are...It's..." He cleared his throat and met her gaze, eyes hot. "You're pink. And wet; I can see it. Is that because of me?" he asked, his voice husky and his eyes dark with a hunger she suspected was reflected in her own eyes.

She shivered and fought the urge to run then, as the sheer intimacy of the moment sank in. The naked honesty of the question simultaneously shook her and sent her arousal soaring one level higher. She was in bed with Seeley Booth, a man she worked with, bickered with, relied on...and fantasized about. Was she wet because of him?

"Yes," she finally answered.

He rewarded her with a smile that made her breath catch in her throat and made her feel like she'd just identified the remains of every last Jane and John Doe stored at the Jeffersonian.

She cried out, shocked by the intensity of feeling that swept through her when he touched her, parting her folds with his fingers.

"Shh," he whispered, his breath warm against the tender skin of her inner thigh. "It's ok." He pressed soft kisses against her skin as he stroked her.

With each deft touch, the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. She heard his sharp inhale. "You smell so good," he murmured a second before he replaced his finger with his tongue.

His tongue barely grazed her clitoris, but she reared off the bed, gasping. He dipped his tongue into her center. She moaned at the undeniable pleasure of the intimate kiss. Booth curled his hands under her bottom and pulled her up toward his mouth. He began to lick her in earnest, setting a steady pace that had her undulating her hips in time with each sure stroke of his tongue.

She struggled to hold on to the last shreds of her control. But she'd been waiting so long, aching for release, that she knew she wouldn't last long. "Booth," she said. Not when he was flicking his tongue against her like that. Not when she could hear him moaning, too.

"Come for me," he commanded. "I want you to come in my mouth."

Not when — She felt him slide a finger inside her. _Oh._ "Booth," she cried, her voice pitched high. Her muscles tightened, and she shook as the orgasm washed over her entire body in hot waves.

The aftershocks trembled through her as he gave her one last slow lick. Finally, after the last tremor subsided, he moved up to lay beside her, kissing her softly on the mouth. She tasted herself on him, and for some reason that made her smile.

Booth pulled back and traced a finger along the edges of her mouth. She turned her head to look at him, feeling boneless and spent. She blinked, once, twice. _She_ was spent, but _he_ wasn't. Stifling a yawn, she reached out a hand and pressed it against Booth's erection. "What about you?" she asked. "I can take care of you," she said, blinking rapidly in an effort to keep him in focus. Her limbs were loose and heavy, and her eyes suddenly felt unbearably heavy, too.

"I can wait," he said with a soft laugh. "I've waited this long already."

"Mmm. No," she said, trying to shake her head but finding it unwilling to obey her brain's commands. "One night, Booth," she mumbled.

"I know, I know. One night."

Brennan felt Booth kiss her fingertips and smooth her hair from her forehead. She sighed and snuggled closer to him. He was warm, and he smelled nice.

"You're not gonna tell Hodgins about the book, are you, Bones?"

"Not since you conceded to my demands."

"That's my girl," he said, patting her hip.


	6. Runaway Train

When Booth woke, the first thing he noticed was the warm, soft body crushed against his. Unwilling to open his eyes just yet, he reached out his hand and felt it brush smooth skin. He inched it upward until he cupped one round, heavy breast. _Thank you, God._ Stifling a groan, he arched his hips and felt his cock press against her deliciously curved ass.

Whose ass?

He cracked open an eye. Long, reddish brown hair strewn across his pillow. Milky skin. The weight of her breast in his hand.

He came fully awake. _Bones._

The second thing he noticed was the noise. It was somewhere between a wild animal and a chain saw. Puzzled, he frowned. As realization dawned, he started to laugh, trying to do it silently so he wouldn't wake her.

"Thoracic vertebra," she mumbled, sending him into a fresh fit of laughter. He clutched his stomach, holding in the laughter as best as he could, but he must have shaken the bed. Brennan sat bolt upright, the sheet falling to her waist. Her nipples hardened because of the cool morning air. She was even more beautiful in daylight than she'd been by moonlight. He sat up and brushed the back of his hand against one perfect puckered nipple.

"You snore like a freight train, Bones." It was downright jarring to hear that sound issuing from such a delicate-looking woman.

"I do not," she said, her voice hoarse with sleep. She batted his hand away. "Stop that, Booth. Where am I? What am I...?"

He knew the minute the previous night's events came back to her. She looked at him, glanced down at her bare chest, and looked back at him. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flared pink, as she yanked the sheet up to cover herself.

If possible, he grew even harder. Everything this woman did turned him on.

Clutching the sheet in one hand, she pointed at him and then back at herself. "Did we?"

"Kinda." He arched an eyebrow. "Don't act like you don't remember, Bones. We weren't drunk." He flicked her a grin. "You begged me."

"I did not," she said with a severe frown.

"Booth, I'm tired of waiting," he shot back, mimicking her words.

Brennan groaned and covered her face, dropping the sheet. "Oh God. I did," she said.

"Mmhmm," he said, crawling forward to nuzzle her neck. Damn, she smelled good.

She shoved him away from her and pulled the sheet up again. "Booth! Behave!"

"That's not what you said last night." He wagged his eyebrows at her.

"You're incorrigible."

"So encourage me."

She let out an exasperated sigh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He'd never seen her like this before — with eyes still soft from sleep, pillow creases on her cheek, and dark hair tousled and tumbling 'round her face. He admitted it silently; she looked adorable.

He sat back and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He felt her eyes tracking the movement. "Like what you see?"

She rolled her eyes in response.

"Wanna bite me again?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're insufferable, Booth. And arrogant. A pain in my—"

"And sexy. Don't forget sexy," he said, interrupting her. "Very good with my tongue, too."

Her lips twitched at the corners, telling him he might be able to touch her now without getting his head taken off.

She nodded. "I'll admit that you are rather skilled with your tongue."

He cupped a hand over his ear. "I'm sorry. What? I didn't hear that."

"I said—"

"Forget it," he said, moving closer. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple, relieved when she didn't immediately pull away.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For last night. You were...very good"

"I was, wasn't I?"

She smacked his arm.

"Ouch. You're rough in bed, Bones." He moved back so he could look in her eyes. "You're welcome."

The warm smile she gave him and the way her blue eyes lit made him want to hug her and then tug her back down on the bed with him for a long, leisurely— "Oh, shit."

"What?

He turned to look at the clock and realized he must have turned off the alarm last night when he'd heard the knock at his door. He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I can't believe it's 9:30."

"9:30? Why did you let me sleep this late?"

"Let you? Now this is my fault? If you hadn't shown up at my door after 3:00 in the morning and forced me to please you with—" Brennan slapped her hand over his mouth.

He pulled her hand away. "You're right. We don't have time for this right now. You go shower first. I'll scrounge up some breakfast."

"Breakfast? We don't have time for that."

"There's always time for breakfast, Bones. It's the most important meal of the day," he said, wagging his finger at her. He was turning into such a dad. "Besides, you squints need your brain food."

"Thank you for the lecture on the importance of breakfast, Booth," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"You're welcome, Bones." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, ruthlessly squashing the urge to ravage her, and then waved his hands toward the bathroom "Now go. There's extra towels on the shelf in the bathroom."

She climbed out of the bed and trotted toward the bathroom. He wasn't sure if she'd forgotten the sheet or if she just wanted to taunt him with her nakedness. Either way, he enjoyed the view. He glanced down at his erection and sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

When the shower had been off for several minutes and Brennan still hadn't emerged from the bathroom, Booth tapped on the door. "Everything ok?"

The door opened, revealing his partner, clad only in one of his forest green towels. Her hair was wet and her skin flushed pink from the heat of the shower. He clenched his fists; it was all he could do to keep from ripping the towel off her and taking her against the sink. "I don't have a toothbrush or any clean clothes. I have a shirt at the lab, but that's it."

He tore his eyes away from Brennan's chest and cleared his throat. "Um, I can loan you a pair of boxers, if you want. That's the best I can do."

"Ok."

"And I've got an extra toothbrush. Here, hang on." Booth stepped into the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet. He pulled out a brush and stood, accidentally brushing against Brennan as he did so. "Here you go."

She looked at the brush and raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Parker loves The Flinstones," he said with a smile.

He left the bathroom to grab a pair of boxers from his dresser, feeling the weight of Brennan's gaze as he walked away.

Their eyes met as he handed her a pair of red flannel boxers. He tried very hard not to imagine her wearing them — and nothing else. "I'll uh, let you change."

"Thanks, Booth. I'll be out in a minute." She shut the door behind her and he strained to hear the rustle of the towel being removed.

He shook his head and left the room; man, was he in trouble.

He'd just put his plate in the sink when he heard her come into the kitchen. With a hand at her back, he urged her toward the dining table. "Here, I made you half a bagel with cream cheese. And coffee, of course."

She smiled gratefully, and he kept his eyes trained squarely on her face. If he looked down and saw the tank top she'd been wearing last night, he wouldn't make it into the shower, and they wouldn't make it to work until much, much later. "Just give me ten minutes."

"Why? I'll just eat and go. I have my car here."

"I'll drop you off and then head in. It'll be faster."

"No, it won't."

"You're right, it won't. But it'll give us a chance to, you know, talk."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Ok. But hurry up."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, giving her a jaunty salute.

In the shower, he turned the water as cold as he could stand it. Still, images of Brennan in his bed last night, naked, wet, and hot for him, kept flashing through his mind. No, that definitely wasn't helping. He gritted his teeth as he soaped his cock. No, he definitely didn't have time to jack off. Rinsing off quickly, he squirted some shampoo into his hand and roughly lathered his hair, pulling a bit. Good. Let the pain distract him.

But the thoughts wouldn't stop. Was she really serious about them only having one night? They hadn't discussed it yet, not really, but they had to. Could he go the rest of his life without being inside her? She'd been so sweet in his mouth, and the little noises she'd made as he touched her. He bet she'd looked amazing in his shower, with the water coursing down her body, over her breasts. His cock twitched, and he groaned. No, no, no. So. Not. Helping.

Resigned to not being able to think of anything but naked Brennan, Booth rinsed his hair and shut off the shower. He toweled himself off roughly before, brushing, shaving, and getting dressed — all in record time.

When he came out, Brennan was still seated at his kitchen table. Her chin was propped on her hand and she was staring at the wall. "Hey, Bones, let's go."

She visibly jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand flying to her throat. "Booth, you startled me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to. What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing important," she said, shaking her head. She cocked her head to the side and frowned, staring at his face. "I think you missed a spot." She tapped the skin next to the left side of his mouth.

"Crap." And here he thought he'd done so well. He glanced at his watch. Already 10:00. "Whatever," he said with a shrug. "It's Friday. Let's go."

"May I drive?" Brennan asked as she waited for him to unlock the car door.

"No, you may not, Bones."

"Why not? You never let me drive."

"If you drive, I'll be too distracted to talk."

"And that would be bad because...?"

He narrowed his eyes at her before climbing into the driver's seat. He took in her mulish expression and chucked her under the chin. "Don't sulk, Bones. It's not attractive."

She huffed and shot him a die-right-now glare. "As if I'm worried about being attractive to you."

"Aren't you?"

His question was met with dead silence.

"So—"

"Last night didn't count."

"Huh?"

"While you were in the shower, I considered what transpired last night."

He cut in, before she could continue. "What transpired last night is you came by for a booty call, and I, problem solver that I am, gave you a mind-blowing orgasm. With my mouth."

"Booth!" He took his eyes from the road for just a second and noted with amusement that Brennan's cheeks were flaming. A-ha. So his blunt, matter-of-fact partner could, in fact, be embarrassed. Turning the tables on her could be fun.

"What? You keep saying I'm afraid to talk about sex. I keep telling you that's not it. It just didn't seem appropriate for _us_ to talk about sex before. But now, after last night... But look at you, you're blushing."

"I am most definitely not blushing," Brennan replied, raising a hand to her cheek. "An orgasm can't make your mind explode. Physiologically speaking, it's not possible. I have no problem discussing sexual matters. This is just different," she insisted.

"Different how, exactly?"

She appeared to mull it over for a moment. "Well, you're discussing what we actually did. That's just different."

"Is that the best you can do? That's really lame, Bones."

"Oh, shut up." She sniffed. "Sex, or rather what people actually do and say during sex, seems rather...ridiculous afterward. When one is no longer in the moment. Having sex."

"So last night was ridiculous?"

"No, that's not what I said."

"That's what it sounds like you're implying."

"No, last night was not ridiculous. In fact, if you hadn't interrupted me— What I was trying to say is that in thinking about last night, I concluded that it didn't count." She paused. "Because we didn't actually have intercourse. And I think we should. Just once. To remove all the mystery, and get it completely out of our systems."

He didn't say anything, just waited, sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She shifted in her seat. Then she scratched her nose. She frowned. She sat up ramrod straight. Then she slumped down in her seat.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Let me see if I understand this. What you're saying is that I was so good, you have to have me again." He turned his head and grinned in her direction. "Face it, Bones, I rocked your world." His grin transformed into a smirk.

Making an inarticulate sound of rage, Brennan punched him in the arm.

"Damn it, woman." He rubbed his arm. "You've got to learn to control those violent impulses."

"So do we have an agreement?"

"What agreement?"

"An agreement that we will engage in sexual intercourse — the complete act — and that will be it?"

He must be crazy to even be considering her proposal, but he was starting to realize that when it came to Brennan, he was just that — crazy. "I'll pick you up at 6:00."

"That's too early," she complained. "We're already getting in late."

"Bones, it's Friday. One Friday. I promise that Cam won't fire you, the world won't end, and all the bones in your lab won't suddenly be resurrected if you leave a little early tonight."

She heaved a sigh and then nodded. "Fine."

He pulled up by the Jeffersonian. Just as Brennan stepped out of the car, Booth called out, "By the way, you snore like a freight train." Brennan slammed the door so hard Booth swore the car shook.

Booth smiled and shook his head, switching on the radio. No doubt about it, he was 100 percent certifiable.


	7. Closer to You

Brennan swiped her ID card and crept up the platform steps at the Jeffersonian. Zack stood off to the left, but fortunately, his back was turned to her. Angela was nowhere in sight. With a nearly inaudible sigh of relief, she congratulated herself on her stealth and slipped past Zack and into her office.

Unfortunately she had congratulated herself too soon, for she had just slid into her chair and switched on her computer when Angela appeared in the doorway, her brow creased with worry. "There you are," she exclaimed. She glanced at her watch. "You're late. You're _never_ late. It's almost 10:30."

"I was a bit overtired, Angela, so I overslept."

"Sure, sweetie. And monkeys might fly out of my butt."

Brennan frowned. "That's a disturbing image."

Angela walked into the office and leaned against Brennan's desk. She peered at Brennan curiously. "Your hair's still wet, and you're wearing a tank top. That's pretty casual for you, Brennan."

Brennan reached behind her for the lab coat slung over the back of her chair. She shrugged it on and buttoned it up before responding. "I have to do laundry."

"You just did it again."

"What?"

"You lied to me."

"I did not."

"Yeah, you did."

"How can you tell?"

"You're a terrible liar."

Brennan's shoulders sagged.

"I'll forgive you, just this once, if you tell me why you're really late."

Just then, Brennan's cell phone chimed. She grabbed it off her desk and flipped it open. There it was, a text message from Booth: _See you tonight._ She couldn't help it - a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. Remembering Angela's presence, she schooled her features into a more neutral expression. But it was too late; the damage was already done.

"All right, Brennan. Give me the goods."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Angela."

"If you keep lying to me, eventually I'm going to be offended." Angela folded her arms across her chest and gave her a stern look. "You might as well just tell me. We both know I'll find out anyway."

"How so?"

"Honey, I've got interrogation methods even Booth doesn't know about."

At the mention of Booth's name, Brennan's eyes flashed to her phone. It was a move that would cost her.

In a flash, Angela snatched the phone out of her hand and stared at it with avid curiosity. A wide smile lit her face as she sashayed toward the door and pulled it shut. "See you tonight," she said in a singsong voice. Still smiling, she practically danced over to the couch, sitting down and crossing her legs with a gusty sigh. "The gig is up."

"What?"

"Spill, sweetie." She patted a spot on the couch next to her. "Come sit."

"You're invading my privacy, Ange," she complained with a pointed glance at her phone.

"You bet I am."

"You're really not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope, not on your life. What kind of friend would I be if I did?"

"My best friend?" Brennan replied with a hopeful smile.

"Nice try."

Realizing both the battle and the war were lost, Brennan rose and moved to sit on the couch next to Angela.

"So what's going on with you and Booth?"

"I've been having these thoughts...about him."

"Let me guess, the kind that involve whipped cream and handcuffs."

Brennan smiled and relaxed onto the couch, turning to face her friend. Discussing it with Angela might not be so bad. "Yeah, that kind."

"With a partner like Agent Hotty, I'd be worried if you _weren't_ having those kinds of thoughts. So what happened?"

"I couldn't sleep last night. It's been like that for a while now, and I just thought that if we, well, had sex, that would take care of the problem."

Angela grabbed Brennan's hand. "Oh my god," she breathed. "What did you do?"

She shifted on the couch. "I went over to his apartment late last night and proposed a solution to our problem."

"What solution? I think I already know the answer, but tell me anyway."

"I told him we should have sex, just once. That way the mystery would be gone, and we could go back to the way things were before."

"You mean the two of you arguing all the time, thereby engaging in really hot, really extended foreplay. And picturing each other naked."

Brennan frowned. "It's not foreplay, Angela. Booth and I disagree. Often. So we discuss, share our different perspectives."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say," Angela replied with what Brennan suspected was an indulgent smile, and patted her hand.

"So how did he react?"

"Well, after some discussion, I was able to persuade him to see things my way."

"I'm sure he took a lot of persuading," Angela said with a wicked grin.

"I encountered some initial resistance, but when I dared him to kiss me, he complied. It didn't take much after that."

"Oh my god, this is even better than I thought." Angela threw her arms around Brennan and gave her a warm squeeze. "I am so proud of you, sweetie."

"Why?"

"Because you took a chance." She clapped her hands together. "You saw what you wanted, and you went for it. Go you. So, how was the sex?" she said with a frightening gleam in her eye.

"We didn't have sex."

"You didn't? But I thought..."

"Well," she amended, "we were intimate, but we didn't actually have intercourse." Brennan leaned closer to Angela, her voice a near whisper. "He performed oral sex on me."

"Sweetie! Lucky you. That's hot." Angela fanned herself and then shook her finger at Brennan. "Naughty, naughty Brennan. I like it. I knew you had it in you. So how does that tie in with the text message?"

"It was after 3:00 when I went over there last night, so I wound up staying over. We didn't get up till 9:30."

"Let me guess - breakfast in bed?" Angela asked with a wink.

"No, no time. But he did make me a bagel and coffee," she said with a shrug.

"So he went down on you last night and made you breakfast this morning. He's a keeper."

"Maybe so, but not for me."

"What do you mean?"

"I told you, I think we need to have sex once to fix things. I'm not looking to get involved with Booth. He's picking me up at 6:00. I expect we'll have sex tonight, and that will be it."

"That will be it? Are you _insane_? Have you _looked_ at the man?"

"Of course. I'll admit he's very well-structured—"

"Well-structured? Massive understatement. Come on! He's built like a brick house. Those shoulders could fill a doorway," Angela said, holding her hands far apart, "and that butt, especially in jeans, is to die for."

"You've certainly given this a lot of thought, Angela."

"Can't blame a girl for looking. But don't worry, I know that one's all yours, Bren."

"He's not mine."

"Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that."

Brennan frowned and prepared to argue her point, but then Angela cut her off. "Did I mention his _hands_?"

She shivered, remembering those hands on her body a scant few hours ago. Unfortunately, her reaction didn't go unnoticed by Angela.

"That good, huh?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

"Good. Because some guys really don't know what they're doing down there. Now, if I were you, I would ride that train for all it's worth. Tie him to your bed and don't let him go. Have a little fun. There's no harm in that, and you both deserve it. Booth's a great guy, Brennan. And you care about each other; that's obvious. But what's he think of the fact that you only want to do this once?"

"He seemed skeptical at first, but I think we're in agreement now."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I think so."

"Hm," Angela said, biting her lip. "I don't know. I think—"

There was a knock, and then the door to her office swung open, effectively ending their conversation. Zack peered inside. "Dr. Brennan, I think there's something you should see. There's an anomaly in the Gabler bones."

"Thank you, Zack. I'll be right there."

Zack nodded and shuffled away. Once she was certain that Zack was totally out of earshot, Brennan turned back to Angela. "Thank you, Angela. I think this was helpful."

"Of course it was," she said with a smile. "And you're welcome. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Brennan smiled and nodded, suddenly grateful, and not for the first time, for their friendship. "I do know that."

"Good. Now go on, you slacker. It'll be 6:00 before you know it." She gave Brennan back her phone and patted her knee before breezing out of her office.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by in such a flurry of activity that when Booth strode into her office, one hand in his pocket and the other tossing and catching a coin repeatedly, Brennan felt as if only an hour had passed since she'd made it into the lab. "Come on, Bones. Chop chop. Time to go."

"Booth, I have so much to do. I don't think I can leave now. You go ahead."

"But I'm your ride."

"I can always call a cab."

"No, you're coming with me. We had an agreement, Bones. 6:00," he said, tapping his watch.

Just then her stomach emitted a loud rumble. Oh, she'd forgotten to eat lunch.

"Wow. That was loud. Did you forget to eat lunch again?"

"I was merely immersed in my work."

"What did I tell you about that? You need to eat." He was across the room in seconds, unbuttoning her lab coat and pulling it off her shoulders.

The intimacy of the touch startled her. Booth had removed her coat dozens of times, but he'd never unbuttoned it before.

"You didn't change your shirt," Booth said, his eyes warm as they traveled over her.

"I didn't have time."

He grasped her arm above the elbow and tugged her toward the doorway, his hand warm against her skin. "Come on. We've gotta get you fed."

"Booth," she protested. "I need to grab my phone and my..." The words died on her lips when Booth's thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her antecubital area — the soft spot inside her elbow. Probably no one observing would have given the innocent touch a second thought, but Brennan did, feeling a wave of warmth wash over her.

"Grab your stuff, and let's go."

She complied, and Booth ushered her out, his hand pressed to the small of her back.

Once they were settled in his car, Booth turned to her. "How was your day?"

"Very productive, once I arrived."

"I'm glad one of us got some work done. For me, today was a total wash."

"The FBI isn't keeping you busy, _Agent Booth_?" she teased.

"Don't get me wrong, I have mountains of paperwork to do. Believe me, I'm going to pay for today. But I was just too distracted to get much done."

"Distracted? By what?"

"By you," he said with a smile and a sideways glance. "You're hell on my concentration, _Dr. Brennan_."

She smiled back at Booth before turning her head to look out the window at the passing cars and buildings and try to ignore the fact that she was inordinately pleased by his admission.

"So I thought I'd make us dinner," Booth continued. "We can stop in at Safeway, pick up some groceries, and then head back to my place."

"You can cook?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I've been on my own a long time. Just because I eat takeout sometimes doesn't mean I can't cook. But we'll keep it simple tonight. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup."

"That sounds...interesting."

"Oh, come on, Bones. Don't be a food snob. I promise once you've had my grilled cheese, you'll want more."

"Hm. So you say," she replied noncommittally, unsure if they were still talking about food.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Brennan watched as Booth pulled groceries from paper bags. He'd chosen plastic when the cashier had offered them a choice between paper or plastic, but Brennan had explained the environmental effects of plastic. Then Booth had rolled his eyes at her and requested paper instead.

After they'd returned from Safeway, Booth had gone into his room and traded his suit for a black t-shirt and faded jeans with rips at the knees. The denim looked soft, and her fingers itched to smooth over the worn fabric and glide across the plains and contours of the man it covered. But she restrained herself, choosing instead to sit on the counter and swing her legs lazily. Remembering Angela's comment about Booth's shoulders filling a doorway, she raked her eyes over him, admiring the way the t-shirt clung to shoulders that were, admittedly, astonishingly wide.

Having emptied the bags, Booth turned away to don a black apron. She chuckled at his attire, and he grinned at her over his shoulder, eliciting a curious flutter in her chest. When he left the kitchen for a minute, Brennan shook her head and marveled at the memory of how his eyes had crinkled at the corners when he grinned at her.

When Booth returned to the kitchen, Brennan heard music coming from the other room. From the guitar chords, she ascertained it was rock. The tune didn't seem familiar, though.

"Sweet child o' mine," Booth sang, moving his head and body in a curiously snakelike fashion. "Sing it with me, Bones," he said, holding an imaginary microphone up to her face.

"I don't know this song."

"You don't know?" he said, shooting her an incredulous look. "Guns N' Roses, Bones. Axl Rose. Sweet Child of Mine."

She shrugged her shoulders and made a face indicating she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Man, you are deprived. We'll have to fix that. She's got eyes of the bluest skies, and if they thought of rain, I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain."

His enthusiastic singing drew a smile from her. But she couldn't resist teasing him. "It's a good thing you already have full-time employment."

"Thanks, Bones. You really know how to boost a guy's ego."

"You're welcome," she replied sweetly.

The song continued, but Booth stopped singing and moved to stand directly in front of her. "Is that a hint?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and glancing down at his apron, where it said, "Kiss the cook" in bright red letters.

He grinned, and there it was again, that crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He winked and patted her leg. "Only if you want it to be."

"Perhaps I do." She caught his hand and pulled him closer. Because she was seated on the counter, she had to lean down to kiss him. His lips felt as soft and warm as she'd remembered. With a sigh, she deepened the kiss; he tasted like coffee and Booth. His arms wrapped around her and his hands slid up her back and into her hair. She pulled back, feeling dizzy, unsure whether it was from hunger or the kiss. "I think I'm hungry," she whispered.

"Me too." He pressed one last, lingering kiss against her mouth and then moved away.

"These are Booth family recipes, Bones," he intoned, "handed down from generation to generation." He laughed. "Actually they're just my mom's. When we were kids, this was our favorite winter lunch - grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup." He reached for the can of Campbell's soup they'd bought at Safeway and twisted the can opener to open it. "Lots of weekends when it snowed, my brother and I would go out and sled and have snowball fights. We'd come in, wet and cold, and Mom would have this hot lunch ready for us. Those were good days." He smiled fondly.

Brennan smiled at the easy affection evident in Booth's voice and thought wistfully of her own mother. No, she wouldn't say anything now. Too many of their conversations about family centered around her own dysfunctional one. Now, she was content to listen to Booth's happier reflections.

"You know, she'd hide the cans from us. So for the longest time, we thought the soup was made from scratch. Not that we cared either way. But it wasn't till I was in high school that the truth came out."

He poured the condensed soup into a pot he'd set on a burner on the stove, tapping the can against the edge of the pot. He gave the soup a quick stir before turning the flame up a bit higher and securing the lid. Next he reached for the bread. "For the best grilled cheese, you've gotta have Wonder Bread. Just plain, white, Wonder Bread. None of that whole wheat, sourdough, or anything else."

"White bread is incredibly unhealthy, Booth. All the fiber has been removed. It's contributing to the diabetes epidemic in this country."

"I know, I know." He waved dismissively. "I'm not saying we should eat it every day. But people should enjoy their food. Food, like sex," he shot her a knowing look over his shoulder, "is one of the great pleasures of life. So my grilled cheese sandwiches are made with Wonder Bread and have real butter and real, full-fat cheese in them."

"And your tomato soup has heavy cream in it," she said with a sad shake of her head. She'd groaned aloud when he'd grabbed the small carton of cream from the dairy aisle at the grocery store.

"Relax, Bones. I'm sure we'll work it off."

She rolled her eyes and let the comment pass.

He opened the carton of heavy cream and poured some into the soup pot without measuring. Her eyes widened as she watched him spread a healthy pat of butter on one side of four slices of bread and then place one slice of cheddar cheese on each, as well. That done, he opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. Yuengling. "None of that nasty Moroccan crap you've got in your fridge, Bones."

He popped the caps off and passed her one bottle, clinking his against hers before giving her a quick kiss that left her wholly unsatisfied. "Drink up," he said before tipping the bottle to his mouth.

Brennan did the same and savored the coolness of the beer.

Booth finished assembling the sandwiches and set them both in a large pan, flattening them slightly with a spatula. He really did seem at ease in the kitchen. It occurred to her then that he handled the spatula with as much skill as he handled his gun. Special Agent Seeley Booth appeared to be a man of many talents. She took another sip of her beer, hiding her smile.

"Do you make this meal for Parker?"

"Yeah, sometimes I do," he replied, face illuminated by the same proud smile that always appeared when he discussed his son. "Although he likes to dip his grilled cheese in ketchup." Booth shuddered. "I know he didn't get that from me. Rebecca swears he didn't get it from her either."

The next few minutes floated by in companionable silence as Booth puttered around the kitchen, humming under his breath. The tangy aroma of tomato and the comforting smell of melting butter and cheese and crisping bread wafted over to her and she sighed, feeling a warm sense of contentment steal over her. She shouldn't allow herself to feel so relaxed. But the warning registered as if it came from a great distance, so she was able to shove it aside. The clink and clatter of plates and bowls filtered to her as Booth pulled them down from a cabinet shelf. She lifted her legs straight out in front of her to allow him to open a drawer and pull out silverware. He placed the spoons on the plates and then paused mid-step as the cd changed and the strains of something mid-tempo and jazzy drifted from the living room.

He moved toward her and grasped her hands. "Dance with me?"

"Booth..."

"Shh. It's Sinatra — Ol' Blue Eyes. I've Got You Under My Skin. Just one dance. What could it hurt?"

If he had insisted, she could have argued with him. But he hadn't — he'd simply asked her, his expression serious. _What could it hurt?_ She couldn't think of an answer right then, couldn't resist the pull of his dark eyes, so she surrendered and let him help her down from the counter. He freed her hands, but only for a moment, so he could remove his apron, flip the sandwiches, and turn off the stove. Then he tucked her hand into his again as he led her out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Brennan rested one hand on Booth's shoulder and let him clasp the other in his. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and danced her around the room. She attempted to listen to the lyrics at first. _"I've got you under my skin. I've got you deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me. I've got you under my skin. I'd tried so not to give in. I said to myself: this affair never will go so well."_

She really did try to listen, but then Booth tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. With a sigh, she gave in and closed her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder and letting him lead her wherever he wanted. His body was warm, his movements easy and graceful. The music and Booth's proximity lulled Brennan into a soporific state. It was a good thing he was leading because her limbs felt so heavy and warm that she barely felt that she was even moving.

Booth's cheek brushed hers, and she shivered in reaction. "Cold?" he murmured, his breath tickling her ear and eliciting another shiver.

Unable to speak, she shook her head. But he released her hand and wrapped both his arms around her snugly. No, definitely not cold. They were hardly moving now, just swaying to the music. "And I like you, under my skin," Booth whispered near her ear.

The song faded out, and during the silence between the end of that song and the beginning of the next, Booth leaned back and looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She held her breath, wondering, (hoping?), that he'd kiss her.

But he thwarted her expectations, as he so often did, by giving her a gentle smile instead. "I'm starving. Let's eat." With that, Booth released her and walked away, pausing to turn off the stereo.

Brennan stood for a moment, rooted to the spot, and stared after him. What was happening to her? She frowned and shook herself. Her blood sugar must really be low.

She felt strangely unsettled — off-balance, even. She found him in the kitchen, crumbling basil into the soup before spooning it into two bowls. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Pouring the soup."

"No, what are you _doing_ , Booth? To me," she said, pointing at herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the floor, impatient to hear his answer.

"Huh? Nothing." His brows furrowed in puzzlement. "We've gotta eat. Would you rather I let you starve?"

"No, but..." She trailed off, unable to articulate her thoughts in a satisfactory manner.

"But nothing. Hunger is making you grouchy and even weirder than usual."

"I am not weird," she shot back, insulted.

"Trust me, you're weird." Booth grasped her by the shoulders and turned her in the direction of the kitchen table. "Go sit. I'll be out in a second."

* * *

By the time they finished eating, Brennan felt much better. When was the last time someone had cooked even a modest meal for her? With a pang, she realized she couldn't remember. It felt...good. Yes, surprisingly good. Was it possible to miss something without realizing you missed it? She set down her spoon and cleared her throat.

Booth looked up from the napkin he was busy folding into an origami swan. She waited till she had his eyes. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this," she said, gesturing at her empty bowl and plate.

"I hardly did anything. Just cracked open a can of soup and slapped some butter and cheese on some bread."

"Still, thank you."

"You're welcome, Bones. So, what did you think?"

"I'll admit I liked it. Very much. The sandwich was crispy and satisfying, and the soup was creamy and hearty."

"See, I told ya," he said with a self-satisfied grin.

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, she looked down at her hands and twisted them together in her lap. "I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me."

"Maybe you didn't let them."

Her gaze shot up to meet his, and she prepared to parry with an angry retort. But Booth's gaze was steady and calm, and she bit back the words. "Maybe I didn't." She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"Maybe you should." He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Let people do things for you sometimes, I mean."

She nodded imperceptibly and looked away, fumbling for another topic. "Of course, if I keep eating like this—"

He cut her off with a sly wink and a blatant perusal of her chest. "A couple pounds wouldn't hurt you."

She tossed her crumpled napkin at his head. He laughed and tossed his origami swan at her before rising and giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze. He gathered their dishes and moved toward the sink. "Why don't you go sit out front while I wash these?"

"No," she protested, tucking the swan into her pocket. "You drove me to work and back and made me breakfast and dinner. The least I can do is wash a few dishes."

"Well, if you insist."

"I insist."

"Ok. You wash, I'll dry."

"Agreed," she said, smiling at the sight of Booth with a cotton dish towel slung over his shoulder.

* * *

He was regaling her with a story about a rookie agent who had the misfortune of being left handcuffed to the steering wheel of his car by a suspect he was attempting to bring in for questioning, when Booth suddenly cupped his hand under the running faucet and splashed her in the face.

"Booth!"

Not to be outdone, Brennan launched the soapy sponge at Booth, smirking in satisfaction when it him in the face with a wet smacking sound. However, she could only rest on her laurels for a moment. In a blink, Booth grasped the retractable spray nozzle from the faucet and turned it in her direction, drenching her face and torso. "Gotcha!" he crowed, putting the nozzle back in the sink and doing a ridiculous victory dance that made him look like a crazed chicken.

Dripping and incensed, Brennan grabbed for his arm and missed. She slipped on the wet floor and started to fall backward, arms flailing. Booth's eyes widened as he saw her go down. He tried to catch her, but with his bare feet, he was unable to get any traction. They went down hard, landing in a tangle of limbs.

Dazed, Brennan lay still for a full minute. When she was certain she hadn't broken anything, she levered herself up. She groaned and shoved her hair out of her face. Seeing Booth still splayed on his back, she reached for his hands and pulled him up into a sitting position.

"Very nice, Bones," he said, his eyes cast decidedly south of her face.

"What?" A quick glance downward revealed that her white top was soaked, leaving little to the imagination. She gasped and folded her arms over her chest.

"What? It's nothing I haven't already seen."

Brennan shot Booth what she hoped was a disgusted look and saw the memory of last night crystallize in his eyes. True enough — it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen. Holding his gaze, she dropped her arms.

His eyes went dark, and his smile vanished. She felt her cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his stare. He crooked a finger, beckoning her toward him.

It occurred to her to resist, to refuse his silent request. No, not request — demand. But that would be irrational, given that in that moment, she craved nothing more than to feel the heat, sinew, and bone of him under her fingers. Desire surged, heating her blood. She crawled forward, stopping when she was a few inches away. She rose to her feet and angled her head toward his bedroom.

"I'll race you," he said, surprising her with the challenge.

Confident that she'd win because she was already standing, Brennan nodded and then sprinted out of the kitchen. Impossibly, Booth gained on her, his footsteps pounding behind her...and then past her. "Loser!" he called over his shoulder.

When she cleared the doorway to his bedroom, Brennan found Booth sprawled on his back on the bed. "I won," he taunted, folding his hands under his head.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Former Army Ranger, current FBI agent. All part of the job," he said, eyes bright with mischief.

* * *

"You did win, Booth," Brennan said with a decisive nod. "I think," she said, taking a few steps forward, "that you deserve a prize."

"I do, don't I?"

"Absolutely," she purred. Wait, what? Bones purred? Oh yeah, she definitely had a throaty thing going on. Booth swallowed and watched her grasp the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head and toss it on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his throat suddenly parched.

"Removing my clothing. I'm all wet. Courtesy of you." The double meaning combined with the knowing smile she flashed him made his jeans feel two sizes too small.

"This has been the longest day ever," he said, trying for a little humor even as his eyes locked onto the curves of her breasts and the peaks of her nipples poking through the silky fabric of her bra. He sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that He, in his infinite wisdom, had created women.

"I know. And you've been very patient." She reached behind her back and undid her bra, letting it slip from her hands.

He reached up and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. Damn, it felt tight.

She sauntered forward until she stood a foot from the bed, breasts swaying gently, and he felt every last bit of air leave his lungs.

When she undid her jeans and slid them down her legs with a sexy shimmy of her hips and a quick glance in his direction, his pulse kicked into overdrive. No doubt about it, the woman knew exactly what effect her little show was having on him. Well, if one, technically two, nights were all he was going to get, he might as well enjoy them.

His eyes traced the cinnamon tumble of her hair, the delicate curve of her shoulder, the soft rise of her breasts, the rosy crests of her nipples, the milky plain of her stomach...and stopped at the edge of the red, flannel boxers she still wore. _His_ boxers, he thought, remembering that morning's fantasy of seeing her naked except for his boxers.

She'd been wearing them all day; they probably smelled like her now. It was a short distance from that thought to the memory of how she'd tasted the night before. That memory was what finally forced him into motion. With a growl, he sat up and reached for her, sliding his hands under the waistband of his boxers to cup and knead the plush roundness of her ass. "Off," he commanded, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the smooth skin of her stomach before sliding the boxers down her legs.

Leaving her naked. This was what he'd been fantasizing about all day while he'd been stuck in his office with an erection that just would not go away. He'd lost count of the number times he'd had to adjust himself. It was like he'd been back in seventh grade, standing in front of the chalkboard, reading from his English paper while the rest of the class snickered at the boner that his sweatpants made blatantly obvious.

Oh yeah. Miles and miles of creamy skin and mouthwatering curves, and he was going to touch and taste it _all_. "Gimme."

"I don't think so," she replied coolly. She shoved him back onto the bed, looking for all the world like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. Hell. He was in trouble.

He let his gaze wander from her breasts to her eyes. They sparkled with mischief and Booth grinned in response, knowing he was putty in her capable hands.

Brennan climbed onto the bed after him and made quick work of his clothes, her scientist's hands removing his t-shirt, jeans, and boxers as efficiently as she handled her anthropologist's tools in the lab. He looked down at himself and realized he was completely naked. The woman could move fast. She sat back on her heels and watched him with an unreadable expression on her face. The weight of her gaze was a nearly physical thing, and he shifted, unnerved by her silent examination. "So?"

She shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. Her gaze moved to his face, starting at his forehead and traveling over his eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth, chin, and jaw.

He wondered if she was admiring him or just silently naming all the bones in his face. With her, it could be either.

His eyes drifted to her right hand; it rested on the bed, her slender fingers methodically twisting and untwisting the blanket.

No, not clinical detachment.

Booth relaxed and watched Brennan watch him, feeling a slow heat slide up his body. Brennan's gaze lingered on his chest, and she blinked slowly. By the time she moved on to his stomach, he was on fire — aching and hard — and she hadn't even touched him yet.

"You exhibit excellent abdominal development," she said, her husky voice making his cock twitch.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Bones."

She stretched out her hand and traced her fingers over his stomach; he inhaled sharply, the muscles in question jumping at her touch. Ok. Enough was enough. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, ready to halt her slow exploration.

But she snatched her hand back and flashed him the kind of smile she always wore in his dreams. "Patience, Booth," she said, wagging her finger at him. "Good things come to those who wait," she quipped, throwing his own words back at him.

He snagged her hand again and gave her fingers a quick nip before releasing her and settling back down on the bed. "Fine, fine. Take your time," he said. "Don't mind me — I'll just be over here, dying," he complained, heaving an exaggerated sigh.

She laughed and smoothed a hand over his hip. Finally, he thought. But then he sighed with disappointment when she skipped that section of his body entirely and crawled down by his feet. She was turned away from him, her perfect ass taunting him and looking way too biteable.

"Tease," he muttered under his breath, his eyes glued to Brennan's ass as images of her on her hands and knees as he pounded into her from behind flooded his brain.

She turned to face him again and lifted his left foot into her lap. She'd surprised him again — by going for his foot instead of kissing him. He could always count on her to surprise him, just when he thought he'd figured her out. It occurred to him then that even if he devoted his entire life to solving the puzzle that was Temperance Brennan, he'd probably still never figure her out.

She cradled his foot between her hands for a moment before running a finger up the arch, making him flinch. "Hm. You're ticklish," she said with a gentle smile. The smile vanished and her eyes turned serious. "There are thousands of nerve endings in the feet. That and the large number of bones in the human foot — 26, not counting the sesamoid bones — are the reasons why beating the soles of the feet with pipes or hoses is such an effective method of torture."

It was something he never talked about. This was only their second time being physically intimate, and already Brennan knew something he'd never shared with any other woman. To be fair, he hadn't told her. She'd looked at his x-rays and known, her cool, intelligent eyes uncovering things he'd rather keep buried.

He hadn't told her, but he hadn't denied it either.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice subdued.

"Yeah." He couldn't look at her.

"I...I don't like the thought of you hurting."

Her confession jarred him. He looked up at her then, and a sudden wave of tenderness washed over him as he noted her slight frown and the naked vulnerability in her eyes. She didn't know what she was letting him see, or she wouldn't have met his eyes.

"It...disturbs me," she continued, her fingers kneading his foot.

He let out a startled gasp as she worked her thumb into the ball of his foot. "Don't think about it." All that stuff about nerve endings must be true because she seemed to find every last one of them with her deft fingers.

"Hm."

She pressed a soft kiss on the sole of his foot and then proceeded to nibble her way over his heel, stopping only to give a slow, wet lick here and there. Booth groaned and closed his eyes, all thoughts of torture and broken bones disappearing. Then she sucked one of his toes into her mouth, and damn if all thought didn't disappear, period, until all that was left was pure sensation.

She was sucking on his toes, but it might as well have been his cock in her mouth. That was where all the blood in his body rushed. She nibbled and sucked and kissed, occasionally giving him a light scrape with her teeth, until he was practically writhing on the bed and almost certain he was about to embarrass himself before he'd even had a chance to be inside her. "Bones," he rasped. "Stop, stop. I can't take anymore."

Brennan chuckled delightedly. "Seems like you liked that, Booth," she said, her mouth taking on an arrogant twist.

"It was ok," he said with a shrug, trying for nonchalance.

"Just ok, hmm? I'll have to do better."

Booth opened his eyes to find her crawling up the bed. He didn't trust that wicked glint in her eyes. She stopped and pushed his legs apart, smoothing her hand over his thigh before settling between his legs. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and his mouth curved in a smug smile. "Very impressive, Booth," she murmured, her voice sliding over him like velvet. She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth. Her mouth stretched in a slow, predatory smile, making him shiver.

The woman was going to kill him, he just knew it.

But what a way to go, he thought, his eyes drifting shut as she reached out and stroked his balls, her fingers soft and warm. Her warm breath misted over the crease of his thighs, making him groan in anticipation. He opened his eyes to see her stretching her hand out to graze the tip of his cock with one finger. He was wet, slippery with precum. She raised her finger and sucked it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing out, her eyes never leaving his. Her low moan of appreciation raised goosebumps on his already hypersensitive skin.

When she finally, finally slid him into her mouth, he was more than ready for it. Her lips felt unbearably soft, and the inside of her mouth was all moist, silky heat against his swollen cock. He fought to hold back the moan building in his throat, but he couldn't, any more than he could hold back the pressure that was slowly and inevitably building in his balls.

His fingers clenched reflexively in the softness of her hair as her tongue swirled around and around the head of his cock before pausing to tickle the slit. For several minutes the room was silent, punctuated only by the sound of the breath he found increasingly hard to pull into his lungs and the wet, greedy sucking sounds that came from Brennan's enthusiastic treatment. Booth was dizzy and lightheaded and the room seemed to be spinning out of control.

He never wanted it to end.

Then she moved up so that he was no longer buried so deep in her mouth and used her hand to stroke up and down the bottom part of his shaft. The twin sensations hit him with the intensity of a punch, and Booth gasped. "Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones," he chanted, the endearment, (when had it become an endearment?), spilling from his lips over and over again.

Then he heard it — Brennan moaning low in her throat as she worked him with her hand and mouth.

It was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.

She was moaning as if she couldn't get enough of him. _Him_.

The same mouth that could cut grown men (and women) off at the knees, that spouted scientific jargon at every turn, that could argue any miniscule point like nobody's business — was fastened to his cock. It was almost too much.

The same woman who fought him, challenged him, forced him to _think,_ even when it was the last thing he wanted to do — was in his bed. Brennan, his sexy, weird, infuriating partner was in his bed, naked, sucking his cock.

And he was going to fuck her — before he woke up and realized it had all been a dream, or she woke up to the utter insanity of what they were doing and broke all 206 bones in his body.

With one last groan, he tried to clear the fog from his head and pulled himself away from her before reaching down and tugging her up on the bed. "Booth, I wasn't finished," she said breathlessly, blue eyes sparking with anger. No surprise there; she was always ready to go a couple rounds with him.

"Just shut up and let me kiss you," he replied, already pushing her down on her back. He peppered her face with kisses, kissing whatever he could reach — her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. Finally, he reached her mouth. He held back, trying to slow down, and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Gentle, yes, he wanted to be gentle.

As usual, his partner had other ideas.

He felt her arms come around his back and soon her hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him into her. Their mouths fused, breath mingling as lips, teeth, and tongues clashed.

"Ow!"

Booth pulled back, panting, and stared down at Brennan, annoyed at having what was one heck of a kiss interrupted. "What?"

"I think you bit me, Booth," she replied, gingerly rubbing her bottom lip.

"Oops, sorry," he said, sounding anything but. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

She responded by tugging him back down for another breath-stealing kiss. "Can't get enough of me, can you, Bones?" he muttered against her mouth before letting his tongue slip into her mouth again.

"Ha. Look who's talking," she shot back, snaking a hand between their bodies to touch his cock.

He groaned and yanked her hand back up. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" she asked, her breath hot and moist against his skin as she nibbled on his earlobe.

"Because this will be over before it even begins." He palmed one of her breasts and lowered his head to take one taut, rosy nipple into his mouth.

"So? I'm ready." She squirmed underneath him, reaching for his hand and tugging it down between her legs.

He dipped a finger into her and moaned at the slickness he found there. "God, are you ready," he said, lifting his finger and sucking it clean.

Brennan grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up so they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "Booth, if you aren't inside me in two seconds, I swear I will break every last bone in your body." She was breathing heavily, her eyes dark and her cheeks as flushed as his own must be.

He chuckled. "I like it when you talk dirty."

"Fuck me, Booth."

He moaned, pleased for once by her knack for taking everything so literally.

Brennan parted her legs and reached for his cock, rubbing the head of it against her clit. She shuddered beneath him, arching her back, pushing her breasts against his chest. "Now, Booth, now," she whispered, releasing him.

"Hang on," he said, pulling away just long enough to reach into his night-stand, pull out a condom, rip it open, and slide it over himself. The he grasped his cock and let just the tip of it slide into her. Intent on being gentle, he froze and lowered his head to brush his mouth against hers. Sweat broke out on his forehead. It was torture, feeling the hot wetness of her on him, around him, knowing that he was just that close to being sheathed all the way inside her. Gentle, yes, he wanted to be gentle.

But then she grasped his ass in both hands and pulled, while simultaneously wrapping a leg around his waist, and the choice was taken from him. Suddenly he was in her to the hilt, surrounded by her heat. He pulled back so he could watch her and catch the emotions that moved over her face like fast-moving clouds.

"I want you," he said, beginning to move.

"Do you?" she asked, eyes dark and clouded with need.

"Yes."

She flexed her inner muscles, drawing a moan from him. He set an easy rhythm, sliding out of her and then back in again as if they had a lifetime together, not a single night. But this thing between them, whatever it was, had been building for a long time — more than a year, if he was honest with himself.

And she was impatient, her hands on his ass and the look in her eyes urging him to move faster.

He didn't want it to be over, because then they'd go back to who and what they were before, and right now he couldn't even say exactly what that was.

She rocked her body against his, and the sweet friction of it made him grit his teeth. "Bones, if you do that..."

"What, Booth? You'll lose control?"

"Something like that," he replied, moaning as she pinched his nipple.

"Don't need," she gasped out, "to be in control..." She raked her fingers up his back. "...All the time."

In spite of the tension coiling inside him, Booth laughed and reached for her chin with one hand. "Look who's talking, Bones."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh," he said and kissed her, letting his lips rub against hers until she sighed, and he felt her wrap her other leg around him. "In that case..."

He began to thrust faster, capturing her mouth with his own and drinking in her sweet moan.

"Booth..."

"I know," he said. "I know." He reached his hand down to rub her clit, but she batted his hand away.

"I'm among the 25 percent."

"What?" What the hell was she talking about?

"The 25 percent of women who can orgasm without clitoral stimulation."

"Oh."

"Just don't stop."

He brushed her hair out of her face, feeling the faint moisture on her skin, and kissed her again, groaning when she nipped at his bottom lip.

"Harder, Booth. Harder and faster."

"I aim to please," he replied with a grin as he rose up on his elbows, pistoning his hips, driving into her again and again. He looked down at her, seeing her lips part and hearing the pitch and volume and urgency of her moans increase. Not much longer now. Good. Because he didn't know how much more he could take either.

"Look at me," he said. Her eyes started to close and he reached out, cupping her jaw. "No, look at me when you come." He could tell how hard she was fighting to keep her eyes open. Her face contorted with pleasure and she arched against him with a keening cry, her muscles clenching and releasing around his cock.

The sight and sound and feel of her coming apart in his arms had him feeling like he was ready to explode. The tiny tremors wracking her body finally subsided, and she was still and quiet beneath him. Her mouth curled in a lazy, satisfied smile that made him want to pound her into the mattress.

She pushed at his chest. "Roll over. Please."

The last word made him grin. "You sure? You're ok?"

"Yes," she said, tightening her muscles around him.

He groaned and started to turn over, pulling her along with him.

"You still haven't gotten your prize," she said with a sly smile. She sat up and cupped her breasts in her hands, squeezing them together. He exhaled with a whoosh and grasped her hips, rocking her against him.

"Let me," she said, taking his hands in hers and pulling them from her hips. She held them out in front of him, using the leverage to roll her hips in tight circles. As if the circle thing wasn't enough, suddenly she was riding him, sliding up and down on his cock in a fast rhythm that had his eyes rolling back and the tension in his balls spiraling higher and higher. She released one of his hands and leaned forward a bit. He used his free hand to caress her breast, the weight of it making his breath hitch. Her eyes closed and she bit her bottom lip, squeezing his hand. _Bones._ _Yes._ That was what finally did it, what made his hips jerk as he convulsed inside her again and again and again.

Her fingers were still entwined with his. When it seemed like he might be able to control his body again, he pulled her forward and kissed her hand. "That was..." He waved his free hand vaguely.

She nodded and smiled, her cheeks still pink. She looked like she'd been well and thoroughly fucked, he thought with a smile of his own. "Yes. It was."

Booth patted the bed, and she released his hand and laid down beside him. He curved his arm around her and pulled her closer, giving her a quick kiss. "Why don't you go grab a couple spoons and the tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream from the fridge while I go get cleaned up?"

"Booth, is food the only thing you think about?"

"Not the _only_ thing, Bones," he replied with a wink that had her rolling her eyes and shaking her head.


	8. I Am Standing Up At the Water's Edge

Booth released Brennan, his arm sliding away from her shoulders, and she shivered as the cool air enveloped her naked body. As he sat up, the muscles in his back rolled beneath his skin. The same back she had circled with her arms, clung to as her heart pounded in response to the dizzying rush of sensation that had overtaken her a few short minutes ago. She felt her face heat at the memory and was suddenly happy that Booth had turned away and couldn't see her expression or the telltale flush that rose in her cheeks.

Unwilling or perhaps unable to tear her admiring gaze away from him, she watched him walk to the bathroom. Her partner was exceedingly well-structured - a study in grace and leashed power. However, that wasn't the cause of her flushed and overheated cheeks. She had taken her pleasure with handsome men before.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and Brennan rose from the bed, inhaling sharply. The scent of consummated desire hung heavy in the room; her stomach did a somersault. Quickly, she turned her gaze from the rumpled sheets that bore silent but visible witness to their encounter. She spotted Booth's black t-shirt piled on the floor next to his jeans - right where she'd left it after she'd hurriedly undressed him. Before she could think better of it, Brennan lifted the shirt and slipped it over her head. The soft cotton felt good against her naked torso, and when she inhaled, she smelled the inexplicably comforting scent of her partner. Something told her it wouldn't do to get too used to wearing the clothes that had just recently rested next to Booth's skin. Still, she couldn't help it any more than she could help the desire that had stolen her sleep and chased her from her bed to Booth's door the night before.

Flipping her hair out from beneath the collar, she padded toward Booth's kitchen in search of the ice cream he'd asked her to bring back. Her bare feet registered the change from carpet to hardwood to cold tile, and the shirt brushed the tops of her thighs with every step. Frowning, she opened the freezer door. Chilly refrigerated air blasted her face, and she flinched in reaction.

She had expected to feel sated and eventually, clearheaded, after her encounter with Booth.

Whatever she had expected to feel after being physically intimate with her partner, this wasn't it. Her limbs were relaxed and heavy, just as she'd expect them to be post-orgasm. But a certain amount of tension still coiled in her muscles. Because what Booth had given her, what she'd taken from him, what they'd done together, it wasn't enough. That alone surprised her.

She wanted more. She wanted the feel of his cheek against hers as they barely swayed along to the music filtering from his stereo. She wanted that odd sense of contentment that stole over her as she watched him move around his kitchen with the same ease he displayed out in the field or in an interrogation room.

She wanted, and she shouldn't.

So lost in thought was Brennan that she gasped and nearly jumped when she felt an arm slip around her waist.

"Easy, Bones," Booth said, his breath stirring the hair next to her ear. "It's just me."

Heart still beating too fast, she reached down to push away Booth's arm. But he held on, tightening his grip and pressing himself even closer against her, the warmth of his body a sharp contrast to the frigid air pouring from the freezer. It unsettled her that he'd been able to creep up on her without her noticing him. How long had she been standing there, distracted by her wayward musings?

Booth's other arm came around her, and his large hand curved over her breast. Glancing down, she watched his thumb stroke her nipple through the fabric of the t-shirt - making her conscious of the fact that she hadn't put her bra back on yet. The breath caught in her throat as he repeated the small motion. Instead of pushing him away as she knew she should, her hand tightened on his forearm. Her fingers seemed pale and fragile against his darker skin.

"You were gone so long I wondered what had happened to you," Booth said, and she felt the vibrations of the words seep from his chest into her back. "And here you are, staring into the freezer. Did you find some bones in there?" A note of amusement touched his voice.

"No," she said, trying to keep her voice brisk, "I was looking for the ice cream you wanted."

To her relief and consternation, he loosened his grasp on her and reached into the freezer. He pulled out a small cardboard carton and triumphantly waved it in front of her face. "See? Ice cream."

Shoving it out of her way, she moved away from the refrigerator. Booth shut the freezer door and pulled open a drawer. Silverware tinkled as he rummaged. Finally, he slid the drawer shut and held two spoons aloft, a wide grin splitting his face. In spite of the confusing thoughts whirling through Brennan's mind, she found herself smiling at his rather victorious expression. Without question, Booth appreciated simple pleasures. She liked that about him.

She liked many things about him.

He was still naked, she noted with more interest than she would have liked.

"You stole my shirt," Booth said, raising his eyebrows and tipping his head in her direction.

"I was cold," she said, shrugging. She reached for the hem. "Do you want it back?"

"Nah. It looks good on you." He winked, a grin curving his lips, and transferred the spoons to his other hand. Tucking the ice cream and spoons against his bare chest, he reached out to her, his hand brushing her bottom. She retreated a step. If he noticed, he didn't comment.

That in itself didn't mean anything. He had noticed. He must have. Booth easily read minute body language cues; she'd come to appreciate that that was part of what made him such a skilled agent.

Still, he let it pass without comment. But never one to be deterred, Booth flattened his hand against the small of her back and nudged her ahead of him, out of the kitchen, switching the light off behind them.

When they stepped back into Booth's bedroom, she paused. Booth simply moved past her and climbed into his bed. Arms crossed over her chest, Brennan stood in the doorway and watched as he grabbed both pillows and sat them up against the headboard. That done, he readjusted the blanket over himself. With what seemed like a sigh of satisfaction, he finally sat back. He glanced at her from across the room, one eyebrow raised. "You coming?"

"I don't know, Booth," she said, tightening her arms and shaking her head. "Perhaps I should go."

"Go where?" he asked, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side.

"Home."

"Aw, come on, Bones. I wasn't that bad, was I?" His tone was light, but she wasn't so blind that she didn't catch the flash of uncertainty in his face.

He was her friend, her partner. A good man. She didn't want to hurt him. The thought of him hurting made her stomach twist, just as it had when she'd cradled his damaged foot in her hands and recalled what the cool blue-white of his x-rays had told her. "Bad? No. Not at all," she replied, her voice a touch softer than she wanted it to be. "That was... You... were very good," she said, unaccountably warmed by the way his expression cleared, the uncertainty replaced by the cocksure smile to which she was far more accustomed.

"I know I was. I don't need you to tell me that." With a wink, he pulled the lid off the ice cream and dug his spoon into the container. A lusty sigh issued from his lips as he slid the spoon into his mouth. Eyes closed, he said, "If you want some of this, you'd better hurry." His eyes slid open, and he shot her a pointed glance. "Chocolate chip cookie dough. I might just eat it all myself."

Rolling her eyes, she uncrossed her arms and left her post in the doorway to join Booth on the bed. Along the way, she snapped up her bra from where it lay haphazardly on the floor, intending to put it on.

"There's no point in putting that back on right now," Booth said, waving his spoon at her.

"Why do you say that?"

A slow smile inched across his face, causing her to shiver. "Because I'm just going to take it off again."

"Booth, I told you this would only happen once."

Booth licked his lips before answering. "You and I both know that's not true."

"We had sex once, and it was good. That's enough for me." _No, it's not._ Ruthlessly, she shoved the thought aside.

"Liar," he said, voice flat and without affect.

Anger stiffened her spine. "Oh, so because I don't say what you want to hear, now I'm a liar?"

"No." He lifted his head and met her gaze directly, a challenge glinting in his dark eyes. "You're a liar because you're lying," he said, drawing out the last word.

"All right, I think it's time for me to go." Not caring that he would see everything, she pulled his shirt over her head and tossed it at him. He ignored it, letting it fall near his hip without comment. His eyes seemed focused on her breasts.

As she pulled one strap of her bra up and over her arm, Booth rose and stalked toward her. She took an involuntary step back. Booth took advantage of her hesitation and caught the bra in his hand, sliding it down and off. Without looking away from her, he tossed the bra over his shoulder.

She gasped. "I need to get dressed."

"You don't really want to leave right now."

"How do you know that?" she asked, setting her hands on her hips.

"I can see it in your face," he said, one hand rising to cup her cheeks and the other floating to her hip and pulling her against him. Her own hands drifted to his chest. His skin was warm where it touched hers; she fought to keep her eyes open. He swept his thumb over her bottom lip, and a sigh tumbled out before she could catch it. A ghost of a smile flickered over his face. Damn him; he had her and he knew it. Releasing her so suddenly that her legs trembled, he stepped back and held his hand out to her. "Please. Come back to bed."

Eyes locked on Booth's outstretched hand, she said, "We need to talk."

"I know." He nodded. "And we will. But for tonight, just be with me."

Part of her wanted to go, to leave Booth's apartment and return to the safety and familiarity of her own. But as her gaze shifted from Booth's hand to his eyes, searching for something she couldn't name, Brennan found that she couldn't make herself leave. Not yet. Holding her breath, she ignored Booth's hand - and walked unaided to his bed.

Without speaking, they both slid under the blanket. Silence reigned except for the sound of their breath. Their knees bumped as she crossed her legs Indian-style.

"Lie back," Booth said, his breath misting across her shoulder as he traced a gentle finger over the swell of her breast.

With great effort, she kept her voice steady. "The refractory period for a man of your age isn't that short."

"Speak English, Bones," he said, a hint of amusement limning his voice.

"You can't possibly be ready to go again," she said bluntly, turning her head to look at him.

Booth cocked an eyebrow and smiled. "Maybe not." He picked up the container of ice cream from where it sat on his nightstand. "But you can."


	9. Going Under

Caught in a chasm between desire and caution, Brennan stared at her partner. He looked back at her, regarding her steadily. She envied him his calm. It seemed somehow unfair that his brow was smooth, his expression as untroubled as the surface of a still lake, while her heart pounded and her thoughts whirled.

Seconds trickled by like drops of water until finally, she made her choice. Sighing softly, she acceded to Booth's request and slid down to lie in his bed again. His lips quirked upward in approval, and she pressed her hands into the sheets, concentrating on the feel of the fabric against her palms and fingers in an effort to center her herself.

"Relax, Bones," he said, reading her unease so easily it would have disturbed her if she weren't already feeling chastised for having been caught in a lie. "Don't over-think things."

Lulled by the repeated sweep of his thumb across her cheek, Brennan sank into the silence, her eyes falling closed for several comfortable moments before they slowly reopened. It felt good to be touched. Almost unbearably so.

Sometimes, in the long months between lovers, she forgot how much solace and satisfaction existed in the simple contact of skin against skin – touch that had nothing to do with sex or release. For the second time that night, she asked herself if it was possible to miss something without realizing you missed it.

"You know," Booth said, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug, "if you really want to leave, you can go anytime you want."

Therein lay the crux of the problem: she didn't want to leave. Nor did she believe that Booth was as indifferent to her choice as he might like her to think; he'd proven that already. A smile rose unbidden to her lips.

Booth's gaze sharpened. "What?" he asked, his hand whispering over her hair.

She shook her head and fought the urge to sigh and curl into his hand. "It's nothing."

"Must be something." He lifted an eyebrow, his skepticism evident, then pulled the lid off the ice cream carton. "Open up," he said, holding a half a spoonful of ice cream to her lips.

Raising her head slightly, she obeyed, and Booth slid the spoon into her mouth. He blinked, a smile flickering around the edges of his mouth as he watched her chew the piece of cookie dough that had been hidden in the ice cream. She swallowed and then licked her lips. Just as she was about to speak, he leaned over and kissed her, his mouth cold and sweet and tasting faintly of chocolate. His tongue curled against hers, and she rested her hand at his throat, feeling his pulse thud beneath her touch. No, he certainly wasn't indifferent to her presence.

She shivered when Booth pulled away and carefully set the carton beside him before moving to lie on his side next to her, his head propped on one hand. "Tell me," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

If his tone had been strident, she could have refused. Since he asked instead of demanded, she hesitated for only a handful of seconds before turning her head on the pillow to look at him, taking in his unruly hair and warm gaze before she said, "I like… being here." Truthfully, Brennan wasn't certain those few words communicated much at all, but she didn't trust herself to say anything more.

But Booth seemed to understand. A wide smile stretched across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and she felt oddly pleased that she'd put that smile there. He slid closer, the hair on his legs skimming against her, and pulled the blanket down to her waist, exposing her bare skin. Before she even had a chance to feel cold, his warm hand settled on her abdomen.

"And I like having you here," he said. He paused, smoothing circles over her skin as he bent to place his mouth near her ear. His breath tickled her, sending a waterfall of sensation cascading down her spine. "I've gotta say, you're a lot hotter out of your lab coat than in it."

She wrinkled her nose at Booth's teasing, inwardly pleased by his backhanded compliment. She would need to be careful with this man; he understood her entirely too well.

"In fact," he said, pulling back to look her in the eye, "maybe you should think about working naked." Moving his hand up, he traced a finger against the underside of her breast.

Her nipples tightened even though he hadn't touched them directly; she was sure he noticed. Laughing even as the pleasure of the casual caress registered in what felt like every nerve in her body, Brennan rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, because that would be so practical."

"Good point." Booth winked, eyes lit with mischief, and flashed her a lascivious grin that made her stomach flutter. "We'd never solve any crimes because I'd have a permanent hard-on."

She arched an eyebrow, trying to ignore her growing arousal. "That's not what I meant." This – the repartee – thrust and parry – she was used to. She'd even grown used to the pressure of his hand at her back, the weight of his arm slung across her shoulders, and his large body encroaching on her space in a way she didn't permit with anyone else.

But his hands on her naked body, well, that was wholly new and unique.

"I know." His eyes narrowed. "Plus I'd have to shoot every man who looked at you. Then I'd lose my job, and…" With a rueful sigh, Booth shook his head. "Never mind. No working naked."

It was a ludicrous conversation they were having. Still, Brennan knew she should object – say something about how she didn't belong to him and also was more than capable of taking care of herself. However, because Booth had lowered his head and was currently engaged in nibbling at her throat and trailing kisses along her jawline, it wasn't a sharp retort that issued from her lips but a quiet moan.

"You like that, huh?" The husky note in his voice made her clench her legs together.

"Mmm," she replied, letting her head fall to the side. Though she'd shown up on Booth's doorstep the night before intending to seduce him, she was under no illusion about who was doing the seducing now. And there _was_ something powerfully seductive about knowing that the man who was at this moment teasing her with his mouth and hands was the very same man with whom she'd shared countless meals and exchanged a number of secrets. This man was Booth, she thought, shivering as the realization settled somewhere deep inside her.

"This might be the quietest I've ever seen you," Booth said, brushing her hair aside and laughing softly against her throat. "Except for when you're puttering around the lab ogling bones," he amended. "I guess now I know how to shut you up."

Brennan scratched the short, bristly hair at the nape of Booth's neck, then moved her hands to his bare back and shoulders, feeling muscle and bone. "I wouldn't count on that if I were you," she said, the words slipping out in a lazy drawl. It wouldn't do to have him feel too sure of himself; her partner had a marked tendency toward arrogance.

She arched her back, all too aware of her own wetness, her body's undeniable response to Booth's warm breath and the light scrape of his teeth against her. "And I most definitely do not 'putter,' as you put it."

He lay half-sprawled over her, his body a comfortable weight, until he edged downward, kissing a long, sweet, damp line down her throat to between her breasts. Though it seemed impossible that she would want him again so soon, she did. When Booth pulled away, sitting up, and the cool air rushed back in, she moaned in protest, her hands reaching for him.

A sparkle overtook his eyes as he smiled down at her. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." She hadn't asked for his reassurance, but he'd offered it nonetheless. "Close your eyes," he said, and his hand swept down over her forehead and eyes.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I asked you to."

She grasped his hand and lifted it from her face. Unable to resist baiting him, she etched her thumb over the kanji on his wrist and raised her eyebrows at him. "That's not a particularly compelling reason, Booth."

"Be nice," he said, shaking his finger at her in mock rebuke.

She responded by nipping his finger.

He frowned. "Biting me won't get you on my good side."

"I wasn't aware you had one."

"Then I guess you have a short memory," he said with a smirk. "Now close your eyes." Upon seeing her narrowed eyes, he rolled his own and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Please."

"All right." She shut her eyes and waited. The quiet lengthened between them. With her eyes closed, her other senses seemed more prominent. There – a distant creak as the building sighed and settled. A tapping sound overhead as someone moved in one of the units above them. Booth seated next to her, his presence tangible in the heat from his body. She inhaled deeply, scenting him, herself, _them_. Was he watching her?

She wavered, a glimmer of uncertainty flaring inside her, but then willed her eyes to remain closed and her body to stay still. Finally, the sheets rustled. The bed dipped as Booth moved toward her, and light and shadow melded and flickered beneath the thin veil of her eyelids.

Brennan gasped, eyes flying open in surprise as she felt the coldness on her breast.

"Cold, isn't it?" Booth asked, eyes twinkling.

She looked down at where the ice cream melted on her skin, separating into thin ribbons that threatened to slide down her body and onto the bed. Just as she contemplated smacking Booth in the shoulder, he dipped his head and rubbed his lightly stubbled cheek against her before slowly licking the sticky mess from her skin. This time when she gasped, it was for an entirely different reason altogether.

Before she could regain her equilibrium, Booth scooped out more ice cream and dribbled it directly over her nipple. It hardened immediately under his watchful gaze. Though the cold shocked her and called forth goosebumps all over her flesh, the intensity of the sensation made her sex throb. Trembling, Brennan clutched at Booth, digging her blunt nails into his back.

Booth cupped her breast, his hand blissfully warm, and blew one long, tortuous breath against her nipple.

"Bastard," she said on a gasp.

"Watch your mouth, Bones." He laughed and bent to drag the very tip of his tongue over her nipple, smearing the ice cream. "Yum," he said, locking eyes with her, a teasing lilt in his voice.

She arched her back in frustration, thrusting her breasts toward him in a silent plea. When he responded by sucking her nipple into his warm mouth, she cried out, fingers tunneling through his hair. Fire followed ice, and her body burned. One hand slid to her hip and then the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, where Booth drew aimless, wandering patterns that made her toss her head and shift restlessly under his sure touch.

Moving away slightly, he rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it stood taut and puckered. Then he reached for the carton again, and she stiffened in anticipation of the cold. Though she was prepared for it, she still shook when he turned the spoon and let the ice cream drip onto her. He turned away from her for a second, giving her his back as he placed the carton and the spoon on his nightstand. When he turned back, all traces of laughter were wiped clean from his face.

He laved her nipple again and again, dutifully sucking every last drop of the chilly ice cream from her. She couldn't fault him for his absolute dedication to the task. With each firm swipe of his tongue, her body quivered, a current of pure sensation traveling from her breast to her core. Her thighs pressed together in an involuntary effort to ease the steady ache that now resided there, until she finally grew impatient and reached for Booth's hand and guided it down between her legs.

"Hm," he said, stroking a finger through her wetness and watching her face so intently that she flushed, the heat washing over her face. She didn't doubt that he saw it. "What have we here?"

With rapt attention, she watched as he lifted his finger and sucked it into his mouth. The small gesture reminded her of the previous night, when he'd pleased her using his mouth and tongue and agile fingers. Unable to hold it in any longer, her lips parted on a moan.

To her ears it seemed loud, the sound cutting through the air in the quiet of Booth's bedroom. But she felt no embarrassment. No shame. For though it was too soon for him to be physically aroused again, she had no doubt that he was still _with_ her. His eyes gleamed in the lamplight, dark and hungry, and the way the lines and angles of his face suddenly looked familiar and yet not, made her breath come fast and her heart thunder in her chest.

He crawled down on the bed and eased her legs apart. One of her hands lay curled against her abdomen. Looking up at her, Booth gathered that hand in his own and gently pulled it down and kissed her fingers. Releasing her, he glided his thumbs over the inside of her thighs. The motion both soothed and aroused her. "You're so beautiful. I always thought so." He smiled. "Even when you looked down your nose at me with that snooty I-know-everything-and-you're-just-a-piece-of-gum-stuck-to-my shoe expression on your face. So condescending and so unbelievably beautiful."

"What?" she said, protesting and trying to hide the pleasure that bloomed in her at hearing he thought she was beautiful. "I was never condescending. I always conducted myself with…" The words died in her throat as Booth drew his finger over her, circling and circling until she tilted her hips, helpless. Carefully, he brushed his thumb over her clitoris, rubbing in a back and forth motion that made her sink her teeth into her bottom lip.

"You were saying?" he asked, his voice warm with laughter.

She raised her head and peered down at him. "I… I don't remember," she said, hearing the quaver in her voice and not caring. Her head flopped back down on the pillow, and Booth chuckled. It occurred to her then that this would do nothing to temper his arrogance. Still, it was simply too difficult to care when each confident stroke made her feel like she was dissolving, melting like Booth's ice cream.

"It's ok," he said. "Close your eyes. Let me take care of you."

Brennan left herself at Booth's mercy, shutting her eyes and rocking her hips against his hand as the pressure continued to build. Obeying the dictates of her body, she touched her nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, mimicking the motion Booth had used. She heard him make a sound of approval – something low and deep in the back of his throat. It skittered over her, a pleasure in its own right.

She felt the loss of his touch in every part of her as she opened her eyes to watch him move back up on the bed and lie on her right side. He didn't make her suffer for long, however. Without a word from her, he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. Then he brushed a kiss over her temple, and his right hand slipped back where she wanted it most.

The rhythm he set was slow and easy, but she wanted more. "Please," she said, panting as she thrust upward.

"Whatever you want, Bones," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Her eyes squeezed shut as the heat continued to climb over her, the tension stringing her muscles tight as a bow. She could feel herself rushing toward the edge; it was right there. So close…

Reaching down blindly, Brennan grabbed Booth's hand and pushed it lower. "Inside," she said, her breath a harsh rasp, and released him.

He seemed to understand her, as he slid his finger into her. The slow in and out drew a moan from her, and she stroked herself more quickly, increasing the pace. Several heartbeats later Booth's arm tightened around her. "Let go," he said, his voice urging her higher. "Let go," he repeated, and she did, Booth anchoring her as she threw back her head and let the tide wash her away.

When Brennan returned to herself, she opened her eyes to find Booth watching her, his mouth unsmiling. Silently, he skimmed his hand over her hair, smoothing it back from her face so gently that she sighed. "You're beautiful," he murmured, then leaned down to clasp her damp cheek.

Brennan wanted to say something, but even as her pulse and respiration slowed, words proved elusive. At a loss, she merely looked back at him, letting her gaze trace his familiar face. When he pressed his mouth to hers, she slid her fingers into the softness of his hair and let him stroke his tongue along her bottom lip.

He pulled away first, taking her hand and holding it over his heart. "Do you feel up to a shower? We should wash that sticky ice cream off you."

She felt strangely reluctant to move. "In five minutes," Brennan replied, blinking back at him and absorbing the feel of his heartbeat under her palm.

"Five minutes," Booth agreed, and then lowered his head to ghost a kiss over her shoulder.


	10. Touch and Go

Booth lay on his side, watching Brennan. She lay curled next to him, hand tucked under her cheek on the pillow – _his_ pillow – and her other arm stretched out in front of her. Close to him, but not touching. The position made her seem much younger than he knew she was.

Every few seconds she blinked, the blue of her eyes hazy and unfocused. She had the kind of face that looked too serious, bordering on sad, when it wasn't smiling. That was one of the first things he'd noticed about her, and for reasons he couldn't explain, he'd wanted to make her smile almost from the very beginning. Hell, he'd even take her glaring at him over the shadows that crept over her face more often than he'd like.

Those lips were made for smiling – preferably at him.

Part of him wondered what thoughts rolled in Brennan's mind now as she silently looked back at him, her expression calm but her cheeks still pink from his touch.

He almost asked. He almost pulled her into his arms the way he wanted to. Then another part of him, the one that knew his partner and understood how close she'd come to running after they'd had sex, that part decided it was better to keep quiet and just observe for a while. Kind of like a scientist, he thought with an inward smile as Brennan silently looked back at him.

She was rubbing off on him. He didn't know how he should feel about that.

He didn't know how he should feel about any of it. All he knew was what he'd known last night when she'd shown up at his apartment: they couldn't go back. What they'd done couldn't be undone; it couldn't be rewound like an old VHS tape. Even if it could, he didn't want to.

So cool on the surface. That was Temperance Brennan. But he'd known in his gut that beneath that cool surface there existed something more - if he could just touch it. If he could just dip in a finger, he knew the surface would fold and ripple.

As he watched, her lips curved. For a moment, all he could do was stare and remind himself to breathe in and breathe out. He'd told her once that he had a charm smile; what he hadn't told her was that she had one, too.

With those eyes that iced over when she was angry and melted like a lake in spring when she smiled, she was already too pretty for her own good and for his blood pressure. Too smart, too. Who knew what fresh kind of trouble she'd manage to get into if she figured out how to work that smile?

No way would he be the one to tell her. So he settled for returning her smile with one of his own. "Come on," he said, sitting up and letting his hand graze hers. "It's been way more than five minutes."

At first she just frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine," she finally said, sighing.

As she slid toward the edge of the bed and then stood, Booth's gaze lingered on her still-naked body. Her eyebrow arched as she caught him looking, and he flashed her a grin and a wink.

With a roll of her eyes and a twitch of her lips, Brennan easily stepped out of his reach. "Don't even think about it," she called over her shoulder as she walked to the bathroom.

Booth followed Brennan, his eyes locked on the sweet curves of her hips. It could be his imagination, but he thought they might be swaying just a little more than usual. "Easy for you to say," he muttered, scratching his stomach. "You had dessert."

"What did you say?" she asked, as he settled his hand on her warm back.

"Nothing," he replied, trying to sound innocent. Still grinning, he inched his hand down and gave her a quick pinch on the ass.

"Booth!" she said, the word coming out as a squeak as she smacked his hand away.

Shrugging, he said, "Sorry," sounding anything but.

* * *

Brennan shoved aside the curtain and stepped into the shower. "Oh," she said, sounding surprised.

"Too hot?" Booth asked, frowning as he stepped into the tub behind her.

She turned away so the spray hit her back. "No," she said, after a moment, shaking her head. "It will be all right in a minute."

Without shoes, Brennan stood a few inches shorter than him. Seeing her like this gave him a different perspective. Her eyes fell shut, and Booth looked down at her, admiring the drops of water that hung from her eyelashes like tiny crystals.

His ears filled with the sound of rushing water, and for a second or maybe an eternity, Booth felt like they were the only people left in the world.

When he started to feel cold, he brought his hands up to her shoulders and turned them both so he was under the water, too. Blinking, Brennan glanced up at him. Slick from the shower, her hair gleamed nearly black, and the contrast turned her eyes a shade of blue he couldn't name if he tried. He wasn't a writer; he didn't mold words the way she did. In fact, he was damned sure he didn't even know all the words she knew – and he was OK with that. Their partnership worked because of the different strengths they each brought to it.

"What?" she said, her lips twisting in a frown.

"Your hair," he said, brushing his hand over it, "it's all wet."

The frown melted into a smile that told him she was laughing at him; he found he didn't mind. "We are standing in a shower, Booth."

"Yeah," he said, his voice just a touch softer. "Yeah, we are." He dragged his hands through his wet hair before returning them to Brennan's shoulders and smoothing them down over the warm, wet skin of her arms to her wrists, and then back again. Touching her reminded Booth she was there: she was real. If he pinched himself, she would still be standing in his tub, naked, with him.

Her head tilted to the side. "I think this is one of those times when I'm missing something."

"Well," he said, letting his hand follow the heavy, wet fall of her hair. "This is new, that's all. We've never showered together before."

She nodded, her expression turning thoughtful as she trailed a finger in a zigzag pattern over his chest. "That's true. I suppose we haven't done any of this before." A dozen rivers slipped over her shoulders and breasts while steam rose to fill the air around them.

Wrapping his arms loosely around her, he smiled and swayed her a bit, their feet squeaking against the wet tub. "Nope. I can't say I've eaten Ben and Jerry's off your breasts before. I mean, I've thought about it…"

Her eyebrows shot up. "You have?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

She bit her lip and glanced away, looking almost shy. It was actually kind of cute. Wisely, he kept that thought to himself. "How did the reality… compare to the fantasy?" she asked, a hesitant note entering her voice.

Pulling her closer with one arm, he tipped her chin up with his free hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "What do you think?"

Shrugging, she remained silent, just breathing. Something warm and heavy filled Booth's chest, and he pressed a kiss to Brennan's temple before closing his eyes and bringing his mouth to hers.

Neither spoke when they finally broke apart. Releasing Brennan, Booth reached for the bar of soap sitting on the shelf hanging from the neck of the showerhead. He rubbed the soap between his hands, lathering it until the suds covered his hands in white. "Turn around," he said.

"Why?"

"So I can do your back."

After a second, she nodded and turned away from him. Gently, he stroked the soap over her back and then circled his hands against her skin until it was covered in white froth. He felt a shiver move through her as his fingers swept over her shoulders. He stilled immediately. "You OK?"

For a heartbeat, Booth heard nothing but the water.

"Yes, " Brennan said, her voice sounding husky.

* * *

When he tried to dry her off, she simply took the towel from his hands. "I can do that myself," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure you can," he said, shrugging and letting her comment pass without further comment. "Do you want another shirt?"

"Yes, please."

He left the bathroom and returned to his room, where he pulled open one of the dresser drawers and rifled through it till he found an old Steelers shirt that had grown soft and faded through many washings.

She was standing behind him, wrapped in his green towel, hair hanging straight and wet around her shoulders, when he shut the drawer and turned around. He hadn't heard her come out of the bathroom. "Here you go," he said.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes serious. Their fingers brushed as she took the shirt from him. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shifted on her feet, her eyes darting from his face to the floor.

Though he sensed her uneasiness, he decided to wait for her to speak.

"It's late," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "and I'm tired."

"So stay over like I told you to."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him, but not into his eyes. "All right. But Booth, I can't sleep with you."

"Hate to break it to you, Bones, but you already did," he said, keeping his tone light.

"No, that was sex." As her gaze finally rose to meet his, Booth's heart sank. "I mean that I can't _sleep_ with you."

Booth froze. "Why not? You slept with me last night."

"I did," she said, nodding. "But that was a mistake."

"Why the hell was it a mistake?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice level. "Geez, it's not like I'm going to harass you in your sleep."

"That's not it. It's too… intimate. This" – she waved a hand between them – "apart from our partnership, is just supposed to be sex. Nothing more."

Booth's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Heat crawled up his face. He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to tell her how stupid he thought this was. But she'd been completely honest with him about what she was looking for when she dropped by the night before. So he rubbed a hand over his face and then nodded. "OK." His voice came out rough, so he cleared his throat. "You can have my bed."

She frowned, and he willed his hands to keep from shaking her. "No. I can't kick you out of your bed," she said.

Again, he wanted to fight her, to pit his stubbornness against hers, but she was right – it was late, and she was tired. Come to think of it, so was he. They could pick it up again in the morning. "Fine," he said, even though it was anything but that. "I'll fix up Parker's room for you."

* * *

Brennan waited in his room while he stripped the sheets on Parker's bed and put down a fresh set. After fluffing the pillow a little harder than necessary, Booth crossed the hall to his bedroom. "I left an extra blanket in case you get cold," he said, standing in the doorway and scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Brennan replied, rising from the edge of his bed and tugging at the bottom of the t-shirt he'd loaned her. Seeing her in it made him ache. She walked toward him, face somber and unsmiling. Stopping a few feet away, she glanced at him, looking as though she wanted to say something. But as he waited, she stayed silent. "Good night," she finally said, and the woman he'd touched just a few minutes ago brushed right past him, leaving him to sleep alone in a bed that was big enough for both of them.

Booth swallowed, pushing down the disappointment that burned inside him. "Yeah. Good night," he replied, one hand braced hard against the doorframe. He didn't bother turning around to watch Brennan go into his son's room.


	11. Stronger Than the Monster Beneath Your Bed

Lying on her back in Parker's bed, Brennan looked up at the ceiling, eyes traversing the fluorescent green glow-in-the-dark stars and planets posted there. There was no pattern, no organizing factor she could discern for how the stickers had been planted. No, it appeared they'd merely been stuck haphazardly.

A memory returned to her unbidden, surfacing from the depths of her brain. She'd been a child - probably no more than 7 or 8 years old. It had simply happened too long ago for her to recall with greater precision. One sunny Friday afternoon after school had closed for summer vacation, she'd watched from her bedroom window as her father and brother had driven off.

When she asked her mother where they'd gone, she smiled and said they'd bought a tent and gone camping. "A little father–son time," she said. "Don't worry, honey, we'll have fun without them."

All weekend she pictured Russ and her father having an adventure, sitting around a campfire, laughing – without her.

They returned Sunday, just as she and her mother were sitting down to eat dinner. The sound of tires spitting gravel reached her ears through the open windows. Her mother rose, a smile forming on her face as she walked out of the kitchen and toward the living room. Brennan remained in her chair, even when she heard the squeak of the screen door opening.

"How are my boys?" her mother asked, her voice carrying into the kitchen, where Brennan still sat, swinging her legs. "Did you have fun?" She stuck her fingers in her ears so she wouldn't have to hear their answer.

But a minute later, they tromped into the kitchen. Her father had a hand on Russ' shoulder, and though both of their faces were sunburned and peeling, they were also smiling.

For the first time, she wished she were a boy.

Russ pulled out a chair and sat down, looking at her with his mouth stretched in a wide grin, and she hated him just a little bit. When he said, "Hey, twerp," something inside her burst open: she dumped her icy lemonade in his lap and then ran out of the kitchen, heading for the safety of her bedroom. Her father's laughter boomed out from behind her, and her mother said, "Matt, don't encourage her!" as she flew past them and up the stairs.

She managed to lock her bedroom door before Russ could catch up and give her the bloody nose she heard him promise her. Later, her mother popped the lock and came in wearing a disappointed frown that led into a long lecture about good behavior. Brennan didn't say a word. Her mother brought her dinner up, saying that until she learned better table manners and apologized to her brother, she would eat in her room by herself.

She left her dinner untouched that night, tasting nothing but salt as she cried herself to sleep.

One night two weeks later her father ushered her into the station wagon. Despite her repeated requests, he refused to tell her where they were going. "You'll see," he said, smiling. The rhythm of wheels against the road lulled her, and she dozed off with the rays of the dying sun warm upon her face.

The lack of motion woke her. Sunlight had been replaced by darkness. "Come on," her father said, his face mostly in shadow. She blinked and shivered before reaching for the door.

A flashlight clicked on. Their hands brushed as he handed it to her. They followed the yellow beam up a long hill, grass swishing against their shoes as they climbed. Somewhere an owl hooted, and Brennan stumbled in the darkness. "Easy, honey," her father said, resting his free hand on her shoulder.

Finally, the ground leveled out. They stopped at the top of the hill, in a clearing with just a few trees around the edges. Her father unrolled a sleeping bag and lowered his backpack from his shoulders. Plastic crackled and tore, and soon they were seated side-by-side, eating graham crackers and M&M's. As they munched, bugs chirped, and a breeze danced through leaves and grass, playing a nighttime symphony. With her father beside her, she was no longer scared.

She didn't know how long they stayed up there. He pointed out constellations one by one, and she committed the names to memory. There was Orion the Hunter, wearing a star-studded belt, with his dogs, Canis Major and Canis Minor. Following his finger, she saw Leo, Scorpius, Lepus... After pulling out binoculars, he helped her find the distant glow of the Andromeda Galaxy in the wide, dark sky above them.

"Did you show Russ?" she finally asked, after the crackers were nothing more than crumbs on her hands and lips.

Her father chuckled softly, looping an arm around her shoulder. "No, I didn't," he said, and she ducked her head and smiled into the darkness.

Now, as she lay in the darkness of Parker's bedroom on an unfamiliar bed, Brennan pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, shivering from something other than cold.

"If you find somebody that you can trust, you hang onto 'em. Remember that," her father had said, staring at her with a different face but the same eyes she'd always known – right before he had joined Russ in the truck that would drive them straight out of her life. Again.

As sleep turned her eyelids heavy, Brennan sighed and turned her gaze from the luminescent ceiling to the room across the hall, recalling the chill in Booth's eyes as he seemed to look straight through her when she said good night – and wondered if he had ever pointed out constellations to his son.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Booth changed position, flipping over from his back to his side. Bad move: his bed smelled like her. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket. All of it. He'd been lying there for hours, fighting to fall asleep and escape the thoughts spinning in his head. No luck. The harder he tried to close his eyes and not picture his soapy hands gliding over the smooth slope of Brennan's back, the clearer the image became; it blazed behind his eyes - in high fucking definition.

This was his bed. His damn bed. He usually slept in it alone; he was used to that. With no one to tell him otherwise, he could sleep on the right side on Monday, the left on Tuesday, and straight down the middle on Wednesday. So why, after one night of sleeping in it with his partner, did it feel too big? _You did more than sleep, buddy._

Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, Booth ruthlessly slammed the door shut on that thought before it could lead anywhere. That was the problem, though, wasn't it? Whether he thought about it or not, he'd started to learn her with his eyes and his hands and his mouth.

Booth wasn't naïve enough to think he now knew everything there was to know about Temperance Brennan. A woman like her could take a lifetime to reveal all the secrets hidden behind her eyes and beneath her skin.

But he knew what she tasted like now. He knew how she sounded when she just let it all go. He knew how she looked when she woke in the morning – sleep-hazy eyes, soft, messy hair, and cheeks with pillow creases ironed into them.

It would be a long, long time before he forgot any of that – no matter where she slept.

He couldn't blame her; she told him the truth from the beginning. She almost always did. Sure, her honesty might make him cringe sometimes, but in general he liked it, even admired it.

Frowning, Booth dragged a hand through his hair. A whimper tore through the quiet, rending his churning thoughts. Wide awake as he was, he didn't wonder if he'd imagined the sound. The instincts of a father had him moving before he even realized what he was doing. Throwing back the blanket, he slid out of bed, his feet hitting the carpet soundlessly.

Crossing his arms over his chest in an effort to shield himself from the cool air that collided with his bare skin, he moved across the hallway and into Parker's room, bending to fumble with the switch on the lamp sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. He blinked as it snapped on, his eyes adjusting. Through the small circle of light cast by the lamp, Booth saw that Brennan lay on her side, legs bent and curled protectively into her body. His shirt had ridden up on her. The blanket that should have covered her sat in a crumpled heap on the floor; he assumed she'd kicked it off.

Brennan's eyes squeezed shut and her forehead wrinkled as she moaned in her sleep. The sound made the hair on Booth's arms rise. Whatever she saw behind her closed eyes, it wasn't pretty. He knew a nightmare when he saw one, having had and witnessed plenty of them. Kneeling next to the bed, he said, "Bones. Wake up." Her eyes remained closed, moving beneath her eyelids. Another whimper escaped her lips, and his stomach tightened like a vise in response. He reached out, and his hand closed around her shoulder. He gave her a gentle shake. "Hey, babe, come on. Wake up."

_Babe_. The word had just slipped out. He hadn't intended to say it. Good thing Brennan was asleep. Otherwise she'd probably give him a black eye.

When nothing happened, he shook her again. "I need you to wake up, Bones," he said, pitching his voice a little louder this time. Just as he brushed the back of his hand over her sweat-damp cheek, Brennan's eyes shot open and she turned her head, glancing around her like she didn't recognize her surroundings. Booth pulled his hand back from her face. "You're in Parker's room," he said, quietly, trying to ease the disoriented feeling he sensed in her. "You OK?" He kept his eyes trained on hers. "I think you were having a nightmare. You… were whimpering. I heard you from my room. I wanted to make sure you were OK."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Booth stared at Brennan, and she stared back, eyes wide and cheeks pale and bloodless. He felt his heart beat in his chest, and was suddenly glad it was an involuntary action he didn't have to lead. Somewhere close by, a truck roared past, its diesel hum slicing through the stillness of the night. They heard it even though the windows were closed against the chill.

"You want to tell me about it?"

Brennan blinked, and her gaze skittered away from his. Then, a frown pulled at her lips – and at something inside him. "I couldn't…" Her voice trailed off, but he waited. He shifted a little on the floor, knees cracking like a gunshot. Her hand, the one he'd held as he came inside her, fisted on the pillow, fingers clenching the fabric as she took a wavering breath. "I couldn't breathe." The words came out low, but he heard them clearly. "It was dark," she said, and a rock settled in his stomach as he began to understand. "Too dark." Her head moved, her gaze lifting to the ceiling and the stickers he'd put up there for Parker. "I thought I'd never see the stars again."

Booth nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he absorbed her words… and their meaning. Of course. He should have known. Not much time had passed.

Still silent, he stood and crossed to the door, where he clicked on the star-shaped nightlight he kept plugged in for Parker. Sometimes that tiny beacon of light was enough to keep away the ugly, faceless things his son swore lurked in the dark spaces beyond the edge of his bed. Other times it did nothing, and Booth woke in the middle of the night to find a small, sturdy body burrowed against him.

He picked the blanket up off the floor and spread it back over the bed, covering Brennan. After turning off the lamp, he slid into the bed, sheets whispering against his legs as he did so. It was only a twin bed, so it was a tight fit. But if he lay on his side, it could work.

"What are you doing?" Brennan asked.

"You don't want to sleep in my bed, so I'll sleep here."

"Booth, that's not what I said."

"Bones, just shut up." The words were brusque, but his tone was not. "Trust me, I know exactly what you said. But I'm not going to leave you in here alone while you're having nightmares."

"It was just a dream. I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sure I'll fall right back asleep."

"You didn't wake me. I never fell asleep." A bitter note crept into his voice. Though he hadn't intended to show it, it was there and couldn't be retracted.

He heard her sharp inhale, but she didn't say anything else. He hadn't expected her to.

Shoving aside his confusion, Booth inched closer to Brennan, aligning his body behind hers. With a sigh, he tucked his knees against the backs of hers. He was wearing boxers, so they were safe on that count. Feeling the tremor that went through her, he curved an arm around her, holding her as close as their separate bodies would allow.

He lied to his son. He told him monsters didn't exist. Because he thought it was the kind thing to do. Parker was just a kid. Just a boy. As the softness faded from his face, so would much of the innocence. Then, as his boy became a man, he would learn what all adults learned: there _were_ monsters – things that lurked in the dark and yes, sometimes even in the light, and they bit and scratched and hurt you – sometimes in places no one else could see.

Booth prayed and hoped and begged his God to allow Parker to learn that lesson in a kindler, gentler way than Booth had. Still, Booth knew his son would learn it, one way or another, and he would not be able to protect him from it forever. For now, though, Booth told a kind lie, warned him not to talk to strangers, and made him memorize his and Rebecca's addresses and phone numbers.

But the person lying next to him right now was a woman, not a child. She would see through a kind lie the second it left his lips. He had tried to protect her, but he had failed at that, hadn't he? He couldn't undo the things she had been through or protect her from the things she had yet to live through, much as he wanted to. He would do his best, but he wouldn't lie to her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, breathing the words against her skin, "for what that monster did to you and Hodgins. I'm sorry I wasn't there—"

"Booth," she said, interrupting him.

"—but I'm here now. Shh," he murmured. "Go to sleep." Reaching up, he smoothed Brennan's hair away from her face. "Sleep," he said again, and felt her press into him just a little. Maybe less than an inch of give. For now, it was enough.


	12. I'll take my chances while you take your time with this game you play.

Booth floated up through the haze of deep sleep, eyes blinking open to the gray light of dawn lurking just beyond the blinds in Parker's room. Something tickled his nose, and he nearly sneezed. A downward glance revealed Brennan draped over his chest like a human blanket. One of her legs, bare and warm, rested possessively over his thigh.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. Seeley Booth didn't make a habit of lying to himself; if his addiction had taught him anything, it was that it was much harder to lie to yourself than to someone else. More dangerous, too.

Moving slowly in order to avoid waking the woman dozing on top of him, Booth brushed at his nose, pushing away the long strands of hair that lay in his face. She snuffled – that really was the right word for the sound she made – then resumed snoring. The snores were softer than the scary noises he'd witnessed from her the morning before, and the memory made Booth smile. If she dreamed, he prayed she saw something light and happy, not the darkness that had made her cry out hours before, drawing him to her room despite his hurt.

After taking one last peek at Brennan, Booth closed his eyes. _Can't sleep with you. Just sex._ Fragments of her comments filtered through his head. He frowned in response, thinking of the restless hours he'd spent alone in his bed while she'd laid in here.

He'd seen her tangle with enough suspects to know that if she'd really wanted him out of the bed she wouldn't have hesitated to make good use of her martial arts training and give him the bruises to prove she meant business, nightmare or no nightmare.

_Too intimate._

No matter what acid words dripped from her pretty mouth, Brennan had turned to him in her sleep, her body and her subconscious mind trusting him. The thought soothed his battered ego as he felt himself begin to go under again. Now if he could just figure out how to get her to trust him a little more when she was awake.

* * *

The next time Booth woke, it was to the whisper of fabric sliding against fabric. Parker's bed creaked; Booth kept his eyes shut and his face relaxed. The hint of a shadow flickered in front of his closed eyelids as Brennan left the bed.

She was trying to be stealthy: that was fairly obvious. A click behind him signaled that she'd switched off the nightlight he'd turned on for her benefit.

He waited till he was sure her quiet footsteps had lead her out of the room before he opened his eyes. Fabric rustled from across the hall, and he pictured her putting on the jeans she'd taken off for him. A door shut; she was probably in his bathroom.

Booth lay still and quiet until a few minutes later, when he heard the front door close. Rolling onto his back, he scrubbed his hands over his eyes and sighed. The signs were all there; he knew from experience since he'd had some less than honorable mornings in his very distant past. Now his earlier optimism deserted him, and a sour taste filled his mouth as he finally acknowledged what Brennan had done: she'd run instead of facing him.

* * *

When a knock sounded at Booth's door, he initially ignored it, turning his attention back to the TV and slouching deeper into the couch as he continued to channel-surf in an attempt to find something worth watching. Scowling, he silently ordered his unwelcome visitor to go away.

The last time someone had randomly shown up on his doorstep it had to lead to kissing, sex – really, really good sex – dinner, and a dance he didn't want to remember, but he didn't think he could forget.

Eventually the knock transformed into the ring of a doorbell, and Booth narrowed his eyes. He dropped his head back against the couch and exhaled slowly through his nose. As much as he wanted to hide in his apartment and avoid whichever door-to-door salesman wanted a few minutes of his precious weekend time, his conscience urged him to get up – just in case someone important was looking for him.

Standing, Booth let his unwilling feet drag him to the door. One glance through the peephole and his shoulders tightened painfully. Forcing the muscles in his body and face to relax and calm even though he didn't _feel_ that way, he unbolted and unlocked the door before pulling it open. "Oh, hey, Bones," he said, shooting for casual. "Did you forget something?"

Brennan's clear gaze swung up from the ground to meet his, and he felt a jolt go through him. Her mouth turned down in a frown. "Oh. No. It's just that I don't have a key." Lifting her hands, she showed him what she carried – a Dunkin' Donuts bag and a cardboard coffee container holding two cups. "I went and got breakfast. But if you're busy," she said, shifting on her feet and looking away, "I'll just leave it with you and go."

OK, so he'd misjudged her; she hadn't snuck off without saying goodbye or good morning. Some of the tension Booth carried drained out of him at this realization. Flashing his partner a genuine Seeley Booth smile, he stepped back from the door and waved Brennan inside. "Don't be dumb. Come on in. I was just trying to find something on TV that's not for five-year-olds. That's tough on Saturday morning."

Brennan followed him into the living room and stopped next to the couch, looking uncomfortable.

"Sit down," Booth said, cupping her shoulder briefly before releasing it and turning away. "I'm just going to grab a couple plates from the kitchen," he called back over his shoulder. When he returned carrying two plates and a couple napkins, he found Brennan seated and fiddling with the plastic tab on the lid of her coffee cup.

After handing her a plate, Booth took a seat a few inches away. Angling his body toward her, he hit the off button on the TV remote, plunging the room into silence. Rather than rushing to fill it, Booth reached for the other cup, carefully removing the lid and inhaling the familiar aroma of coffee. He took a sip and sighed with pleasure as the liquid heaven filled his mouth. Hot, strong, and sweet – not unlike Brennan.

"You thought I left without saying anything, didn't you?" Her honesty momentarily stunned him, though it shouldn't have. He didn't answer immediately, and Brennan continued, saying, "I wouldn't do that to you, Booth."

Eyes wide and troubled, Brennan turned her head to glance at him and then quickly looked away, clutching her Styrofoam cup with both hands. He realized then that it bothered her, thinking that he might expect her to sneak off while he was still asleep.

"Hey," he said, and touched his fingertips to the back of her wrist, "I believe you."

She nodded, not speaking.

Several thoughts fought for equal billing in his head, but he purposely avoided voicing them. Moving his hand to the paper bag Brennan had placed on his coffee table, he said, "Whatcha got in here?" and gave the bag a twitch.

Brennan shrugged and raised an eyebrow, giving him what appeared to be a small but real smile. It filled his stomach with a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee he'd just sipped. "Open it and see."

She didn't need to tell him twice. As his stomach growled with anticipation, Booth opened the bag and pulled out two items. His eyes zeroed in on the one wrapped in paper dotted with bits of grease, but being a gentleman, he handed Brennan the other packet before doing anything else.

Gentlemanly obligation fulfilled, Booth eagerly peeled back the paper wrapper on his food. "Bacon, egg, and cheese croissant…Aww, Bones, you shouldn't have. It's like Christmas." With a wink and a grin, he bit into his breakfast sandwich. "Mmm," he murmured around a mouthful of fluffy, buttery croissant. After swallowing his first bite, Booth set the rest of the sandwich down on the plate in his lap and stretched a hand out toward his coffee. "Nothing better than meat in the morning," he said, with a satisfied nod, patting his stomach.

Wrinkling her nose at him, Brennan continued to spread a disgustingly thin layer of margarine on her bagel. "I don't know how you can eat that, no matter what time of day it is."

"And I don't know you can eat _that_." He tilted his chin toward her bagel before taking another sip of his coffee. "Let me guess – cardboard."

"No," she replied, before taking a nibble of her bagel. "It's whole wheat."

"Like I said: cardboard." Their bickering reassured him. Sure, they'd had sex and shared a pillow and a shower. But he was still Booth, and she was still stubborn, infuriating, beautiful Bones.

A smattering of crumbs stuck to Brennan's lips; Booth tried not to notice when her tongue darted out to lick them. "You missed a spot," he said, voice rough, as he swept the pad of his thumb across the softness of her bottom lip.

She blinked at him, eyes bright and expression watchful. Slowly, Booth pulled back, clearing his throat and fumbling for a safe topic of conversation.

"Why did you stay with me last night, even though I told you I didn't want to sleep with you?"

So much for a safe subject. The coffee and the sandwich suddenly seemed much less interesting; he moved them both to the coffee table. "Because you had a nightmare, and I didn't want you to be alone." _I never wanted to sleep alone in the first place._

"But I told you I was fine," she shot back.

"I know. " He shrugged. "But sometimes people say one thing and mean another. Sometimes… Sometimes they don't know how to ask for what they want."

"Are you saying that I don't know how to ask for what I want?"

"You tell me; you didn't push back much when I told you I was staying." Leaning back, he steeled himself for an explosion.

"I was disoriented and half asleep, Booth," she said, eyes flashing like crystal. "You… You bullied me." She speared her fingers through her hair, holding it away from her face.

He looked back at her steadily. "Did I?"

Her hands dropped to her knees. She stared down at her jeans, lips pressed together tight.

Booth waited.

Her shoulders straightened. With a sigh, she shifted to meet his gaze. There it was again – the same look she'd had on her face when she'd held his foot in her hands and told him she didn't like the thought of him hurting. "No. I was glad you stayed," she admitted at last. The words settled in the space between them, gathering weight and meaning.

Her confession brought back a glimmer of the cautious hope he'd felt when he first woke up that morning. "Me too."

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

Man, she was full of interesting questions this morning. "Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because I said I didn't want to sleep with you last night. It's not always easy for me to read the nuances of facial expressions; I'm not as skilled at it as you are. I just…" She trailed off, and Booth took advantage of the pause to let his brain catch up. "I thought, for a second, that you were upset with me."

Scratching at the stubble on his chin, Booth considered his words. "Look, Bones, you were honest with me from the start; I respect that. So it's not really that I was angry. But you did catch me off-guard." He paused, meeting her eyes straight-on. "I mean, we'd fallen asleep together the night before. I just didn't get why it was a big deal for you last night."

For several seconds, Brennan remained quiet. Finally, she spoke. "I accept that. I apologize if my behavior was confusing."

Regardless of how he felt about her not wanting to sleep with him, Booth knew Brennan hadn't intended to piss him off. "It's ok."

Since they were talking about it, he decided to ask. "Do you regret what we did?" he said, knowing her answer mattered a lot more than he wanted it to.

She tilted her head. "You mean having intercourse?"

"Yeah."

"No, I don't regret it. Do you?"

Booth knew his answer was more complicated than a one-word response could possibly encompass. But he opted for simplicity: "No."

"Afterward, though, I felt differently than I expected I would."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I'm not certain I can articulate it," she replied, staring down at her hands.

Nodding thoughtfully, Booth picked up his coffee. Part of him wanted to challenge her to explain what she meant. Part of him wanted to push her to tell him about her nightmare. Yet another part of him knew that doing either of those things might spook her.

She'd already given him an opening he hadn't expected. An idea began to form. Booth wasn't a patient man by nature. He'd learned patience as a sniper. He'd had to endure endless hours – sometimes days – of waiting.

Brennan had been kidnapped and buried alive. She'd watched her remaining family drive off for who-knew-where. Though he didn't like her wanting to put him in a box labeled "friend with benefits," his gut understood her hesitance to acknowledge he was, or at least could be, more.

Whether he could afford to do it or not, Booth wanted to show Brennan some understanding. So he would wait. Recalling how he'd woken to find her draped over him, he decided to take a calculated risk: "OK. Well, if you ever want to do it again, you know where to find me." He knew he'd just contradicted what he'd said to her a few months ago about there being some people you just couldn't have sex with, but he felt pretty sure she wouldn't mention it.

Brennan's eyebrows shot up at his words. "Really?"

Flashing her an easy grin, he shrugged. "Sure. It's just sex, and what's a little sex between friends, right?"

"Right," Brennan answered, cutting him a sideways glance that made him stifle a laugh. When she turned her head in his direction, a small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. Without speaking, Booth turned his attention back to his food.


	13. The path is overgrown and strewn with thorns.

Brennan stepped into her apartment, letting the door click shut behind her. She had left Booth's place after they had breakfast; he had stood by his living room window and watched her go, flashing her a smile and a jaunty wave as she unlocked her car door.

Here the hardwood floor gleamed a dark gold in the diffuse autumn sunlight, and she allowed her gaze to wander what suddenly seemed like an unfamiliar place. Not that that was rational, of course; she'd only stayed with Booth since Thursday night - certainly not long enough to have forgotten her own home. Yet in some inexplicable way, it felt as though it had been much longer. If this was an artifact of the physical intimacy she had shared with her partner, she most definitely did _not_ like it.

Frowning at her own foolishness, she shook her head and stacked her mail neatly on the hall table, vowing to deal with it later. Their interlude had been highly satisfactory, she mused with a shiver, but it had ended: now it was time to return to her routine. A woman with her responsibilities could ill-afford to daydream and dawdle.

With fresh determination, she strode down the hall to her bedroom. Perhaps a shower would help clear her head of the fog that had settled in it, and put her back in the correct frame of mind. As she pulled off her jeans, something fell out of her pocket. She bent to retrieve it, her mouth forming a smile when her fingers skimmed over the wings of the origami swan Booth had carelessly flicked her after dinner the night before. He'd fashioned it from a napkin; a rather humble medium, she acknowledged. His words, and the simple dinner he'd made for her, returned to her then: _Maybe you should...let people do things for you sometimes._

But that would mean dependence, and the life she now had, the life she had built for herself, rested on a foundation of independence and self-reliance. She didn't need others to do for her; she did perfectly fine on her own, two nights of sleeping in Booth's arms notwithstanding.

No. She should throw it away. What possible reason could she have for keeping a folded napkin?

Sighing, she gently placed the crumpled gift on her bedside table.

xx—xx—xx

She switched on the shower and stepped in without allowing the water to heat up first. The bracing effect of the cold was precisely what she needed to dispel the remnants of her pleasurable but finite time with her partner.

Her movements were quick, efficient, as she soaped her arms and shoulders. But when it came time to do her back, her hands suddenly slowed, the memory of Booth's warm fingers sliding over her skin flooding back with blinding clarity. A heavy ache began between her legs and traveled upward to her chest, where it lodged. She swallowed, assaulted by images of Booth gazing at her with pure masculine appreciation shining in his eyes before he...

The bar of soap slipped and hit the tub floor with a solid thunk that abruptly brought her back to herself.

It was over. Her curiosity had been satisfied; the tension had been dispelled. _Yes, it had_ , she firmly reminded herself. This was ridiculous: she stood in her shower, in her home, yet every small thing reminded her of Booth in a way that defied explanation and deeply unsettled her. Ignoring the throb that echoed in her body, she decided she would finish showering and head to the lab. She would _not_ consider Booth's offer to "do it again."

Most assuredly not.

xx—xx—xx

She had just settled into her office chair and reached for a folder perched on her desk when her cell phone rang. Lips firming at the interruption, she palmed the phone and brought it to her ear. "Brennan," she answered, making no attempt to hide her irritation.

"Tempe, it's me."

Despite the faint crackle of static, the caller's identity was unmistakable. The familiarity of the voice on the other end of the line made her breath stutter. "Max?" she said, catching herself before "Dad" could tumble out instead. "Where are you?"

"Now honey, you know I can't tell you that." A smile colored his voice. "I know I let you get the drop on me once, but I'm not senile yet."

"That is debatable," she replied, scowling.

He chuckled, and she beat back the infinitesimal part of her that warmed at the sound. "Listen, I don't have long. I just wanted to let you know that your brother and I are together, and everything's fine."

After several weeks of wondering how Russ and her father were doing, the unexpected phone call did bring with it some small portion of relief.

But it also raised a bleak, ugly truth: Once again, she had been left behind. The memory of that long-ago "guys' weekend" rose in her mind, and her fingers tightened on the phone. Once again, she had been forced to watch her closest living relatives take off, this time her grief and humiliation compounded by the fact that she had been left handcuffed to a bench.

None of that should still bother her, however, she rationalized. How many years had she survived, no, _thrived_ , without her parents and brother? Two successful, meaningful careers that brought her a high level of satisfaction and allowed her to live more than comfortably. By any objective measure, she was doing much better than simply getting by.

Having thus silently reassured herself, Brennan forced her fingers to relax. "Did you do it?" she asked, fighting to regain control of the conversation - and her wayward emotions. "Did you murder Deputy Director Kirby?"

"Honey," he chided, "you know I can't answer that."

"The coin, it was there, and he was eviscerated and burnt. I know it was you." She paused, inhaling shakily. "We all know it was you."

"Kirby wasn't one of the good guys," he replied. She noticed he didn't refute her accusation. "Whatever he got, he deserved," he continued, his voice so full of conviction that she shivered in response. "He was a crooked cop. Not like your Booth."

"He's not my Booth," she countered automatically. "We are partners. Nothing more and nothing less." All true - except that he had held her when the nightmare of her time buried underground had gripped her with icy fingers - and she had let him.

"If that's what you need to tell yourself... But take it from me; I know a little something about leading a double life."

"I am not going to discuss this with you." The words came out sharp. "As a matter of fact, I am not going to discuss anything with you. This conversation is over."

"I'm sorry I upset you, Tempe. That wasn't my intention." He paused, as if waiting for her to comment. When she said nothing, he sighed into the silence. "Just...take care of yourself, honey. And let people take care of you, OK? Remember, I love-"

She didn't want to hear him say it. Buoyed by a sudden surge of anger, she disconnected the call.

Afterward, she spent several long minutes with her forehead propped on her hands, wishing she didn't feel so irrevocably, unbearably alone.


End file.
